GIFT   OF 
A.   P.   Morrison 


WQ 


/' 

»/ 


WORLD   OF   SONG 


CAMBRIDGE: 
Jprinteb  ot  i\\t  Binersibe  Press. 

1878. 


Copyright,  1878, 
By  JOSEPHINE  WALCOTT. 

GIFT  OE 

a.s.7 


To 
CALIFORNIA  — THE  GOLDEN    EMPIRE, 

SO   GRACIOUSLY   RESPONSIVE   TO   TOIL, 
SO  SOFTLY  WOOING  TO  REPOSE, 

Cfyts  Minne 

IS    REVERENTLY    AND    TRUSTINGLY    DEDICATED. 

To 
CALIFORNIA  — FAIR   SOVEREIGN, 

THAT   SWAYS   THE   REGAL  SCEPTRE   OF   SUNSHINE   AND   CALM   SEAS  J 
WHOSE   BURNISHED   WINDS   RIPPLE   LIGHTLY 

AMONG   THE   PAGES   AS   I   WRITE  ; 

BELIEVING  IN  THE  HONOR  AND  NOBILITY  OF  HER  SONS  AND  HER  DAUGHTERS, 
AND  IN  THE  ULTIMATE  GREATNESS  OF  HER  DESTINY, 

I   DEDICATE   MY    FUTURE, 
WITH   ITS  WEALTH   OK  HOPES   AND   AIMS. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


M95662 


PREFACE. 


IT  is  only  at  the  earnest  solicitation  of  many 
friends,  that  the  author  has  been  induced  to  gather 
in  volume  these  fugitive  fragments  that  her  poetic 
genius  has  flung  upon  the  world  of  literature,  never 
recking  what  fate  awaited  them. 

These  heart-echoes,  too  often  in  sadly  sweet  re 
frain,  but  sometimes  in  joyous  pulsings,  responsive 
to  nature's  glad  volition,  were  the  inevitable  and 
spontaneous  utterances  of  her  inner  life  ;  and  those 
'who  know  and  love  her  best  fear  not  that  these 
soul-breathings  will  be  less  potent  to  soothe  and 
sustain  the  weary,  to  inspire  to  tender,  sacred 
thought,  or  noble,  constant  endeavor,  than  when 
in  fugitive  wandering  they  attracted  many  a  touch 
ing  tribute  and  heartfelt  response  from  those  who 


iv  PREFACE. 

knew  her  not,  only  as  kindred  souls  recognize  and 
answer  each  other. 

And  well  we  know  that  those  whose  inmost 
thoughts  delight  to  linger  among  the  sublime,  the 
beautiful  and  true,  in  this  tender  volume  will  find 
safe  pilot  into  the  World  of  Song. 

H.  M.  B. 


CONTENTS. 


CALIFORNIA       . 7 

THE  SYCAMORE  TREE 9 

THE  LOST  FRIEND n 

ROSES 13 

'THE  PALM  TREE 16 

•  A  DAY  OF  PROMISE .        18 

DEFEATED .20 

SUNDERED     .    • 22 

OVER  THE  SEA 26 

SUMMER 28 

SOUTHERN  DREAMING 31 

ONLY  SEEDS 33 

THE  CHOSEN  FRIEND 36 

BY  THE  SEA 38 

SANTA  BARBARA .    .40 

LILIES 42 

FORECAST .  .44 

FULFILLED     .        . 4; 

SUNDOWN 49 

BEYOND  THE  NIGHT 52 

LITTLE  NELL  THAT  DIED 54 

ENCHANTMENT      .        . 55 

ELFIE  GRAY 57 

BY  THE  SEA .        58 

THE  HAUNTED  HEART .61 

LIFE       . 63 

SING  TO  ME,  DARLING 64 

ONWARD 66 

I  REMEMBER .68 

THE  CHIEFTAIN'S  REVENGE 70 


VI  CONTENTS. 

THE  BATTLE  WON  ....'....    73 
DRIFTING  AWAY  ........        76 

ON  NEW  YEAR'S  EVE 78 

REQUIEM 81 

LENT 83 

EASTER 86 

EASTER 88 

CHRISTMAS 90 

NEED  OF  ME 93 

MY  ANGEL  VISITANT  . ' 95 

REVERIES .        .        -97 

REPROACH .        .        .        99 

ANNA  SNOW. 101 

ALMOST ,  .        .103 

AFTERWARD 105 

THE  WEDDED  LIFE 107  • 

CHRISTMAS  HYMN 109 

TRUST in 

MY  HEAVENLY  FRIEND 113 

RECOMPENSE .        .115 

WHERE  CAN  THE  SOUL.  FIND  REST       .        .        .        .117 
UNDER  THE  SNOW       .        .        .        .        .        .        .119 

COMPENSATION 121 

A  DAY  OF  GLADNESS 122 

DEAD 124 

ONE 126 

THE  LOST  LOVE 128 

RESPITE 130 

THE  USES  OF  LIFE 132 

ANSWERED 134 

PERADVENTURE         .        . 136 

THERE  is  NO  Loss 138 

UNUTTERED  THOUGHTS 141 

PROPHECY 143 

ON  THE  SUMMIT 145 

STRANDED 148 

DESTINY 150 

BEAUTIFUL  LINKS .152 

IMMORTAL  LIFE 154 

"IS   IT   UP    HlLL   ALL  THE    WAY?"      ....         156 


WORLD  ':(j)p!  SONG. 

CALIFORNIA. 

Follow  the   dreams  of  thy  youth." 

SCHILLER. 

IT  haunted  me  amid  the  sunrise  splendor  — 
A  golden  dream  of  sunset  and  of  thee  ; 

'Mid  dusky  woodlands  or  by  shining  rivers, 
On  granite  hilltops,  or  by  Orient  sea. 

I    dreamed    of    palms,    beneath    the    dark-leaved 

maple ; 

Of  orange  groves,  among  the  Northern  pine  ; 
In  lands  aflame  with  gorgeous  Autumn  glories, 
I    roamed    in    dreams    'mid    Southern    fig    and 
vine. 

I  heard  the  mighty  storm  sob  through  the  forest, 
Or    solemn    anthems    peal    through    arch    and 
aisle  ; 


8  CALIFORNIA. 

And    dreams    of   thee,  sweet  world    of   song  and 

sonnet, 

With    strange    deep  longings    thrilled   my    soul 
the  while. 

I  dreamed  of  calms,  'where  wind-harps  hush   for- 

i  ever,/  ^  ,• ,  •  •  :         :    ,'. 
rr<T'A  ,'terider  cadence  of;  untying  love  ; 
And  sea  winds  waft  a  sweet,  unspoken  story, 
And  tender  skies  eternal  shine  above. 

Fair  land  of  sunset,  my  young  dream  fulfilling,  — 
For  I  have  followed  thy  sweet  thought,  O  youth  ! 

And  from  thy  purple  hills  and  golden  heather 
Shall    sing   new    bards,    with    grand   prophetic 
truth. 

Thy  seas  shall  bear  white  ships  to  safest  harbor; 

Thy   valleys    yield    sweet   wealth    of    fruit    and 

grain ; 
Thy  regal  hillsides  glow  with  purple  vintage ; 

Thy  tender  skies  fall  summer  sun  and  rain. 

Thy  sons  shall  be  as  gods  of  classic  story ; 

Thy  regal  daughters  noble,  fair,  and  strong. 
From  thy  new  world  shall  rise  immortal  heroes, 

O  golden  land  of  labor,  art  and  song ! 


THE  SYCAMORE  TREE. 

I  SEE  it  waving  in  the  rosy  sunrise, 

Its  large  leaves  glittering  with  the  fragrant  dew, 
While  purple  shadows  linger  'mid  the  branches 

Where  shy  birds  nestle  all  the  dim  night 
through. 

And  from  the  languid  calms    of  tropic  islands, 
And  spicy  zones  that  flush  the  sunset  shore, 

To  burning  skies  its  royal  crest  uplifting, 
In  kingly  grandeur  stands  the  Sycamore. 

I  see  it  tossing  in  the  noontide  splendor, 
A  cool,  wide  emerald  in  the  sunlit  air,  — - 

A  dim,  rich  twilight  through  the  golden  glimmer 
Of  odorous  heats  and  tropic  noonday  glare. 

While   balm  winds   sleep  among   the  sanded  cav 
erns, 

While  billows  swoon  upon  a  slumbering  sea, 
And  golden  heats  along  the  brown  swards  quiver, 

I  seek  thy  cool  retreat,  O  royal  tree. 


10  THE  SYCAMORE   TREE. 

At  twilight,  when  the  gorgeous  day  is  waning, 
And  gradual  shadows  tinge  the  distant  hill, 

Its  dreamful  silence  lulls  the  soul  to  visions, 
And    wild,     sweet  fancies  through  the  starlight 
thrill. 

And  eagerly  I  lean  and  wait  and  listen, 

To  ancient  myth  and  strange,  wild  Indian  lore, 

And  waiting  oft,  I  read  unwritten  pages, 
The  mystic  volumes  of  the  Sycamore. 

I  see  the  phantom  of  unstoried   ages, 
I  list  the  chorus  of  unuttered  things  : 

In  dumb  battalions  march  forgotten  heroes, 
From  fated  realms  of  unrecorded  kings. 

In  solemn  splendor  moves  the  vast  procession, 
In  deathless  glory  sweep  the  vanished  years, 

With  mighty  hosts  of  loyal  souls  uprisen 

In    deathless    triumph    through    the    swinging 
spheres. 

O  wild,  weird  Sycamore,  wave  on  forever,  — 
Thou  swordless  monarch  of   unbounded  zones  : 

Reveal  thy  legends  of  forgotten  ages,  — 

Thy  fated  sovereigns  of  long  buried  thrones. 


THE   LOST   FRIEND. 

THE  night  is  gone.     Day  followeth  after  night. 
Thou  be  my  day  —  I  folded  in  thy  light. 
'Love  to  love  answers  where  thy  smile  may  be ; 
Wilt  thou  not  smile  on  me  ? 

Lo,  far  in  heaven  the  orb  of  day  is  hung, 

And,  with    sweet    sound,    the    leaves    by    zephyrs 

swung ; 

Leaf  to  leaf  replies ;  bee  hums,  unto  bee ; 
Wilt  thou  not  talk  with  me  ? 

The  pine  trees,  crooning  low,  fling  odors  sweet; 
The    brook    leaps    by,    some    brighter    brook    to 

meet ; 

Bloom  to  bloom  answers,  fairer  grows  the  lea  ; 
Wilt  thou  not  come  with  me  ? 

What  of  the  night  ?     Night  calleth  for  the  stars  ; 
The  lilies  sleep  beneath  the  moonbeam's  bars : 
Star  to  star  answers ;  I  call  thee  to  be 
Moonbeam  and  star  to  me. 


12  THE  LOST  FRIEND. 

And  what  of  song  ?    The  wind-harp,  swept  at  night, 
One  soul  enchanted  by  some  strange  delight, 
So  sweet,  so  pure,  so  glad,  as  song  may  be  ; 
Be  thou  a  song  to  me. 

Prince  of  the  storm,  fling  out  your  banners  gray ; 
Lock  out  the  stars  that  mock  my  lonely  way. 
Yet  not  one  fear,  if  I  may  wait  by  thee  ; 
Couldst  thou  not  wait  with  me  ? 

Ah  me!  My  day,  my  star,  my  song  is  fled; 
The  leaf,  the  bud,  the  tender  bloom  is  dead, 
And  only  memory  drifting  back  to  me  ; 
Thou  couldst  not  live  for  me. 


ROSES. 

OVER  the  summer  sweetness,  — 
Swooning  to  deep  repose, 

Crowning  the  golden  splendor,— 
Bloometh  the  rose. 

Over  the  purple  silence,  — 

Lofty,  wide,  and  afar, 
Filling  the  infinite  spaces,  — 

Shineth  a  star. 

Over  the  rosy  goblet, 

Thrilling  with  life's  new  wine, 
We  quaffed  a  joy  together, 

Almost  divine. 

Over  the  summer  splendor,  — 
Golden  and  amethyst,  — 

Quenching  the  light  and  glory, 
Lies  autumn  mist. 

Roses  withered  and  dying, — 
Out  in  the  scentless  morn, 


14  ROSES. 

I  clasp  with  white  hands  bleeding, 
Only  a  thorn. 

Over  the  gulfs  of  silence, 

Folded  with  pall  and  shroud, 

I  see  through  starless  midnight, 
Only  a  cloud. 

Out  of  my  life  has  vanished 
Something  too  deadly  sweet ; 

Something  broken  and  wasted 
Lies  at  my  feet. 

Something  is  lost  forever 

Out  of  the  great,  blank  earth,  — 

Souls  that  were  not  begotten 
Into  new  birth. 

Words  forever  unspoken,  — 
Deeds  forever  undone, — 

Who  has  peace  everlasting, 
Under  the  sun  ? 

Who  has  gift  of  perfection, 
Peerless  forever  with  youth? 

Who  in  ultimate  ages, 
Absolute  truth  ? 


ROSES.  1 5 

Seedtime,  harvest,  and  vintage, 
Blossom,  fruitage,  and  grain,  — 

Love  is  ever  and  ever 
Sweetest  of  pain. 

Years  roll  over  and  under, 

Love  is  a  pitiful  sweet,  — 
Roses  withered  and  scentless, 

Dead  at  my  feet. 


THE    PALM   TREE. 

IN  new,  glad  lands, — by  fair,  relenting  seas, 

Of  golden  poppies  and  of  golden  corn, 
The  stately  Palm  Tree  —  queen  of  sunset  trees  — 
A  regal  crown  lifts  to  the  rosy  morn ; 

So  grandly  fair,  beneath  the  crescent  skies, 
It  holds  a  pledge  of  some  new  Paradise. 

Amid  strange  perfumes  of  the  languid  noons, 
The  sleepy  birds  are  faint  with  tropic  heat ; 
The  royal  Palm  Tree,  by  the  still  lagoons, 

With  low,  cool  shadows,  wooes  my  lingering  feet. 
'Mid  daffodils  of  gleaming,  dusky  gold, 
In  new,  sweet  dreams,  I  half  forget  the  old. 

I  dream  of  one  so  lordly  fair  and  sweet, — 

And  all  the  world  is  one  vast,  dim  eclipse,  - 
A   summer  heaven  lies  at  my  waiting  feet, 
A  thrill  of  kisses  lingers  on  my  lips. 

The  passion  flower  is  swooning  with  the  rose, 
And  bird  and  bee  are  lost  in  deep  repose. 


THE  PALM  TREE.  \J 

I  haunt  the  shadows  of  this  loyal  tree, 

The  light  wind  ripples  through,  the  golden  calm, 
A  great,  sweet  passion  holds  the  sky  and  sea, 
I  wait  beneath  the  royal  crown  and  palm ; 
And  all  the  land  grows  dark  with  spear  and 

leaf, 
And  golden  poppies  blend  with  golden  sheaf. 

O  pride  of  the  World,  and  love  of  the  Sun! 

Thy  emerald  groves,  O  beautiful   Palm, 
Shall  be  my  rest  forever,  when  won, 

And  my  soul  is  filled  with  a  deep,,  sweet  calm. 
I  know  this  tree  shall  wave  immortal  fair, 
In  deathless  beauty  through   heaven's  sacred 


air. 


O  land  of  the  Palm,  and  land  of  the  Sun  ! 

All  sandaled  with  gold  and  tasseled  with  wheat, 

With  fig  tree  and  vine  when  labor  is  clone, 

And  shadow  of  Palms  through  glimmering  heat, 

I  have  no  love  from  thee,  sweet  land,  apart, 

My  love  of  loves  is  in  thy  great,  warm  heart. 


A   DAY   OF   PROMISE. 

O  DAY  so  languidly  sweet,  so  sweet, 

O  rose  of  a  dawn-tinted  sky, 
O  dainty  blooms  that  swoon  at  my  feet, 

With  bending  of  clover  and  rye, 
O  bright-throated  birds  that  are  singing, 
Would  you  know,  O  glad  breezes  swinging, 

If  some  one  should  utter  a  sigh? 

O  sapphire  sky  and  sapphire  sea, 
O  land  of  pearl  and  sea-blown  shell, 

O  noble  pledge  of  vine  and  tree, 
And  tender  pledge  to  me  as  well; 

Do  you  know,  O  wild  billows  sighing, 

O  sunlight  in  rosy  clouds  dying, 

The  promise  that 's  promised  to  me  ? 

O  bloom  on  meadow,  upland,  and  tree, 
O  vintage  of  rosy,  sweet  wine, 

O  lowing  of  flocks  and  murmur  of  bee, 
In  the  golden  summer's  day  shine  ; 


A   DAY  OF  PROMISE.  19 

Would   you    know,    should   we    break    the    sweet 

pledges  ? 

A  serpent  slides  through  the  brown  hedges, 
With  cruel  eyes  fast  upon  me. 

And  I  said :  O  day,  so  sweet,  so  sweet ! 

I  turned  to  the  kind,  rosy  sky  ; 
I    knelt   on   the    blooms   that   were    down   at   my 
feet; 

The  cruel,  bright  serpent  slid  by. 
Were  you  glad,  O  blue  skies  above  me, 
Were  you  glad,  O  true  souls  that  love  me, 

That  bright,  cruel  serpent  went  by  ? 

The  day  flung  a  quiver  of  sunbeams 

Adown  the  sweet  edges  of  night ; 
The  eloquent  moon  and  the  star-gleams 

Commingled  in  flushes  of  light : 
O  day  of  sunny  blown  blushes, 
0  night  of  dim,  starry  hushes, 

I  'm  standing  alone  on  the  height. 


DEFEATED. 

THE  summer  is  royal  with  roses, 
The  lilies  are  shining  and  tall, 
I  hear  a  sweet  ripple  of  laughter  — 
.      I  'm  coming,  my  love,  at  your  call. 

A  glimmer  of  gold  on  the  river, 

A  glory  of  light  on  the  sea, 
A  bird  singing  high  in  the  arches  — 

I  wait  your  swift  coming  to  me. 

The  earth  is  a  passionate  splendor, 

The  sky  is  a  shadowless  blue, 
The  orange  buds  gleam  through  the  hedges, 

The  blossoms  lie  sweet  in  the  dew. 

The  eagle  skims  over  the  mountain, 

The  wind  passes  over  the  hill, 
My  glad  heart  awaiteth  your  summons, 

Where  lilies  are  shining  and  still. 


DEFEA  TED.  2 1 

Oh,  fleeter  than  sweet,  my  belove'd, 

This  perfect,  glad  vision  to  me  ! 
A  shadow  sweeps  over  the  mountain, 

And  darkens  the  river  and  sea. 

You  call,  but  my  feet  may  not  follow  ; 

The  wind  is  a  shiver  of  sighs ; 
A  quiver  of  pain  in  the  hollows, 

A  shudder  of  death  in  the  skies. 

But  labor  is  wise,  and  to-morrow 
The  weary  shall  rest  and  be  free  ; 

And  love  —  it  is  sweet,  but  its  glory 
Has  vanished  forever  from  me. 


SUNDERED. 

THEY  stood  in  the  hush  of  the  morning : 

She,  with  her  calm,  lifted  eyes 
Turned  where  a  quiver  of  daylight 

Troubled  the  eastern  skies ; 

He,  turned  where  the  high,  crested  mountains 

Flung  their  white  pennons  afar. 
Flushed  with  an  eager  impatience, 

Led  by  a  phantom   star. 

;'You  will  go,"  she  said,   unfaltering, 
"  In  the  ways  untried  and  sweet ; 
You  will  climb  the  difficult  mountain, 
With  swift,  unerring  feet." 

'•You  will  wait,  my  darling,"  he  answered, 

A  light  in  his  brave,  brown  eyes  ; 
A  chill  shuddered  through  the  morning, 
Trembling  over  the  skies ; 


SUNDERED.  23 

And  over  her  passionless  paleness 

Quivered  one  glance  of  the  sun, 
As  over  a  snowy  fastness, 

When  the  sweet,  light  day  is  done. 

"I  will  wait,"  she  uttered,   "forever, 

My  bravest,  truest,  and  best; 
I  in  the  pure,  glinted  sunrise, 
You  in  the  golden  west." 

1 

"I  will  come,  my  darling,"  he  murmured; 
"  Sweetest  and  dearest,  good-by ; " 
Sobs  quivered  into  the  sunrise, 
Mist  swept  into  the  sky. 

His  footfall,  shivering  the  hushes, 
Thrilled  the  dumb  air  with  a  pain, 

Transformed  the  glorified  morning 
Like  rifts  of  autumn  rain. 

He  vanquished  the  difficult  mountain, 

He  stood  by  the  sunset  sea, 
'Mid  scents  of  the  lush  banana 

And  lull  of   the  broad  palm-tree. 

His  face  lost  its  marvelous  grandeur, 
Altered  the  beautiful  vears, 


24  SUNDERED. 

Mocked  of  his  fruitless  endeavor, 
Tortured  of  hopes  and  fears. 

But  a  tremulous,  dawn-like  picture, 
Touched  with  a  tender  sunrise, 

Pure  with  an  Orient  splendor, 
Tinted  his  sunset  skies. 

And  over  those  desolate  mountains, 

Quiet  and  patient  and  sweet, 
Watching  and  waiting  forever 

Sound  of  his  lingering  feet. 

While  the  morning  burned  to  the  noontide, 
And  noonday  paled  to  the  night, 

Keeping  her  desolate  vigils, 
Sacred,  cold,  and  white ; 

Till  the  years  crept  under  and  over, 
When  lifted  her  troubled  eyes, 

Afar  to  the  westward  mountains,    , 
White  in  the  pure  sunrise. 

"  I  will  wait,  as  I  told  you,  belove'd, 

In  a  sunrise  glad  and  calm, — 
Over  the  desolate  mountains 
Wafted  a  prayer  and  a  psalm. 


SUNDERED.  25 

I  am  coming,  darling,"  he  answered ; 

The  turbulent  seas  grew  calm; 
She  sleeps  by  the  sunrise  cedar, 

He  by  the  sunset  palm. 


OVER   THE   SEA. 

THE  mist  has  flung  a  gossamer  net 

Over  the  rosy  sea  ; 
The  spray  a  crown  with  diamonds  set, 

Over  the  billows  free. 

Our  snowy  sail  a  glimmering  crest, 

Rosy  and  light  the  sky ; 
The  drowsy  sea  bird  calls  from  her  nest, 

Dreamily  drift  we  by. 

O  love,  we  glide  by  glittering  isles, 

Plashed  by  the  golden  sea; 
My  heart  a  mirror  under  thy  smiles, 
I  laugh  or  weep  with  thee. 

The  darkness  comes :  O  vanishing  light, 

Linger  over  the  sea  ! 
O  restless  night,  O  desolate  night! 

Linger  my  love  with  me. 


OVER    THE  SEA.  2 7 

The  day  is  gone,  but  what  of  the  night  ? 

What  of  the  dreary  sea  ? 
Our  bark  shall  glide  by  hope's  sweet  light; 

Love  the  true  helmsman  be. 


SUMMER. 

O  HAZY  summer  morn ! 
Soft  through  the  misty  vail  of  floating  cloud, 

The  arrowy  beams  of  dawn 

Light    the    calm    vale,    and    wrap     the    hills    in 
shroud 

Of  silver,  gleaming  lace  ; 

Thy  calm,  sweet,  smiling  face, 

O  placid  summer  morn  ! 

Through  shining  mist  is  born. 

O  golden  summer  noon ! 
High  on  the  golden  hills,  and  glowing  vale, 

The  long,  ripe  grasses  swoon  ; 
O  regal  sky !  O  royal  crowned  dale  ! 

Prince  of  the  realms  that  be, 

Thy  foot  is  on  the  sea  ; 

The  sceptre  of  thy  hand 

Swings  through  the  gracious  land. 

O  king  of  land  and  sea  ! 
Life  follows  thee,  and  love  is  in  thy  smile; 


SUMMER.  29 

Ah,  thou  hast  smiled  on  me. 
I    dream    of    thee,    and    sweet   winds    hush    the 

while ; 

O  gracious  summer  king ! 
The  birds  forget  to  sing,  — 
Swung  to  a  soft  repose 
On  some  white-breasted  rose. 

O  calm,  fair,  festal  night ! 
Bride  of  the  sun,  O  thou  pure-thoughted  moon ! 

0  queen  in  garments  white  ! 

I  worship  at  thy  shrine  and  crave  one  boon. 
My  love  is  gone  afar, 
White  moon  and  golden  star; 
He  rides  the  wild,  wide  sea,  — 
Oh  guide  him  safe  to  me. 

'Tis  high  midsummer  now, 

Night  thrills    with    sweets    and    odorous    summer 
bloom  ; 

1  kiss   thy  shining  brow, 

O  summer  night,  thou  hast  no  ray  of  gloom ! 
O  high,  far,  tropic  sky  ! 
O  lake  where  lilies  lie 
Asleep  with  gem  and  star 
Caught  from  the  skies  afar! 


30  SUMMER. 

I  sleep  —  O  night !  I  dream  ; 

Was  it  a  sigh,  was  it  a  song  I  heard, 
Borne  on  a  swift  star  beam, 

Whir  of  white  wing  of  some  lost,  dreamy  bird  ? 
I  clream,  O  summer  night  ! 
Or  foot-falls  fleet  and  light 
Roam  the  brown  sward  with  me  — 
O  love,  O  light,  O  wide,  wild  sea  ! 


SOUTHERN   DREAMING. 

I  GAZE  on  mountains  lone  and  grand, 

I  watch  the  gleam  of  crystal  seas, 
The  bright  waves  flash  the  golden  strand, 

The  glad  birds  thrill  through  strange,  fair  trees  ; 
The  winds  are  soft  as  whispered  dreams, 

As  low  and  sweet  as  songs  of  love  ; 
The  blossoms  kiss  the  sun's  bright  gleam, 

The  heavens'  kind  arches  shine  above. 

O  dreamy  land,  so  fair  and  far  ! 
O  clasp  of  dimpled,  shining  seas ! 

0  glance  of  crescent,  tropic  bar  ! 

O  song  of  birds  !  O  swing  of  trees  ! 

1  sometimes  dream  the  odors  sweet 
Are  flung  from  far  on  summer  gale. 

The  grace  of  childhood,  fair  and  fleet, 
The  trill  of  song,  the  flash  of  sail. 

O  beautiful  bird  in  summer  skies ! 
Oh  bear  my  dream  to  friends  afar: 


32  SOUTHERN  DREAMING. 

I  watch  the  space  your  swift  wing  flies, 
As  night  may  watch  the  morning-star ; 

Oh  bear  some  palm  from  lands    of  dream, 
The  wealth  of  song  till  then  unheard ; 

Bear  on  your  wings  some  radiant  gleam 
From  this  fair  land,  O  fairest  bird  ! 

My  bird  sweeps  through  the  amber  space, 
The  tide  swings  in  and  out  of  sea, 

The  balm  winds  waft  with  dreamy  grace 
The  mystic  song  of  dreams  to  me. 

O  wind,  O  wave,  O  shining  sea  ! 

O  grace  of  cloud !  O  gleam  of  star  ! 

0  tender  past !  O  sweet  To-Be  ! 

O  hope  so  near !  O  rest  so  far  ! 

1  dream  a  dream  so  fair  and  calm 
Of  life,  of  love  unfed  by  sighs, 

Of  laurel-tree  and  crested  palm 
Agleam  with  birds  of  paradise. 

Where  rays  of  Southern  summer  shine, 
Where  life  is  love,  and  dreams  are  real, 

With  glow  of  song,  and  flash  of  wine, 
O  poet  realm  !  O  real  ideal ! 


ONLY  SEEDS. 

I  ROAMED  a  garden  marvelously  fair, 

With  stately  palms,  and  graceful  swaying  flow 
ers, 
And  silver  fountains,  flashing  sunlit  air, 

'Mid  emerald  calm  of   dreamy,  perfumed   bow 
ers. 

The  passion  flower  upheld  its  azure  cup, 

Concealing  crimson  drops  in  depths  below ; 
The  violet  lifted  blue  eyes  fearless  up, 

And     rose-trees    swung    afoam    like    flakes    of 

snow. 

And  gentle  winds  crept  through  the   sleepy  flow 
ers, 

Then  wafted  far  with  subtle,  strange  perfumes ; 
On  golden  pinions  lightly  flew  the  hours, 

As  lightly  tossed  the  silvery  pampas  plumes. 

And  when  I  thought  of  one  in  desert  lone, 
Or  'mid  faint  languors  of  some  weary  room,  — 
3 


34  ONLY  SEEDS. 

For  sadness  sways  life's  deepest  undertone,  — 
I  sought  to  clasp  for  her  the  light  and  bloom. 

With  lightsome  touch  I  lingered  'mid  the  flowers 
To  cull  the  sweetest  and  the  brightest  bloom, 

Nor  thought  to  heed  the  swift  retreating  hours, 
Till  twilight  hung  a  star  amid  the  gloom. 

With  fleeting  steps  I  passed  the  garden  wall, 
With  trembling  fingers  swung  the  fairy  gate, 

Through  scents,  and  shadows  of  the  fir-trees  tall, 
And   dew-drops  flashing  where  the  moonbeams 

wait. 

Nor  feared  the  phantoms  of  mysterious  night, 
Nor    flitting    birds   with  wide  white    wings    un 
furled, 

Intent  to  bear  the  incense  and  the  light, 
And  tender  glory  of   the  summer  world. 

But  when  I  reached  my  lonely,  friendless  one, 
My  clasping  hands  held  tangled,  bloomless  reeds, 

Though  from   life's  waste  the   midnight   shut  the 

sun 
Of  summer  bloom,  I  proffered  only  seeds. 


ONLY  SEEDS.  35 

But  passing  oft,  one-  weary,  sunset  time, 
I  saw  the  desert  blossom  as  the  rose, 

With  fragrant  blooms,  the  palm-tree  and  the  lime, 
And  fair  young  children  'mid  the  sweet  repose. 

Thus,  when  we  see  divinely  from  the  hills, 
Or  list  the  strain  of  silvery-throated  birds, 

Or  note  the  sunbeams  quiver  on  the  rills, 
Our  faultless  vision  off ers  —  only  words. 

Oh  could  we  know  some  soul  in  silence  deep 
Would  feel  the  glory  that  we  may  not  sing, 

Or  that  our  hymning  stirred  the  weary  sleep 
Of  some  faint  hope  where  shadows  dimly  clung ; 

Or  could  we  thrill  some  soul  to  heavenly  meed, 
To  catch  the  real  from  phantoms  that  but  seem, 

Then  could  we  sow  in  joy  the  desert  seed, 
And  weave  in  joy  the  glory  of  our  dream. 


THE   CHOSEN   FRIEND. 

WILT  thou  not  wake  with  me  ? 
The  night  is  rolling  with  the  tidal  sphere, 

Above  the  hills  dilates  the  morning-star, 
The  trembling  glimmer  of  a  daylight  near, 

A  pledge  of  glory  surging  wide  and  far. 

Wilt  thou  not  watch  with  me  ? 
A  quiver  thrills  along  the  mountain  range, 

The  shadows  lift  in  shivers  all  alight, 
The  old,  glad  mystery  of  tide  and  change, 

The  earth  is  breaking  from  the  trance  of  night. 

Wilt  thou  not  wait  with  me? 
A  sudden  flush  the  wide,  long  seas  disclose, 

A  fleet  is  drifting  to  the  harbor  bar, 
To  golden  calms  the  snowy  sails  uprose, 

A  pledge  of  peace  from  glad,  sweet  lands  afar. 

Wilt  thou  not  work  with  me  ? 
The  night  is  done,  the  dumb,  long  darkness  past. 
Arise,  O  soul,  with  purpose  high  and  strong! 


THE   CHOSEN  FRIEND.  37 

Arise,  O  soul,  to  labors  sweet  and  vast ! 

And  thrill,  O  earth,  with  light  and   bloom  and 
song! 

Yes,  thou  wilt  work  with  me; 
It. matters  not  the  vigil  of  the  years, 

The  fall  of  stars,  or  shine  of  wearied  sun, 
The  dumb,  cold  nights  of  waiting  and  of  tears, 

The  great  unuttered  and  the  vast  undone, 
Nor  swing  of  tides  upon  the  wide,  high  sea, 
For  thou,  O  Friend,  wilt  labor  now  with  me ! 


BY   THE   SEA, 

THE  night  has  come,  and  the  starlight 

Falls  on  the  restless  sea, 
Like  a  gleam  of  hope  through  the  darkness 

Of  a  weary  doubt  to  me. 

I  see  the  foam  of  the  billow 

Flash  like   a  shining  rain, 
Then  fall  into  silence  and  shadow, 

Like  the  rest  that  follows  pain. 

O  wonderful,  beautiful  billow, 

With  your  changing  shadow  and  shine, 
Clasping  the  stars  in  your  bosom, 

I  think  your  life  is  like  mine ! 

Like  mine,  reaching  through  the  darkness, 
From  the  restless,  moaning  sea, 

Pleading,  with  a  ceaseless  endeavor, 
For  a  life  that  may  not  be. 


BY   THE  SEA.  39 

You  clasp  your  mantle,  O  billow, 
With  gems  from  the  brow  of  night ! 

I  grasp  through  the  shadowy  future 
Sweet  rays  of  heavenward  light. 

O  life  of  ceaseless   endeavor ! 

O  wave  of  the  troubled  sea ! 
Star  of  the  weary  night-watch, 

Beacon  of  faith  to  me. 

0  heaven,  with  dowers  of  promise  ! 
O  earth,  with  travail  and  care ! 

Soul  of  God's  mighty  conception, — 
Peace  on  the  brow  of  despair. 

1  stand  by  the  mighty  ocean, 
The  starlight  falls  on  the  foam, 

And  a  feeling  of  rest  comes  o'er  me, 
Like  a  wanderer  n earing  his  home. 


SANTA   BARBARA. 

FAIR  is  she :  not  as  a  priestess  supernal  —  fair, 

With  calm,  white  splendor  of  a  soul  at  peace  ; 
Not  as  a  chiseled  goddess  in  the  moveless  air 
Of  classic  halls,  or  old,  famed  haunts  of  Greece  : 
But  young,  glad  beauty,  so  lithesome  and  free, 
Her  garments  gemmed  with  pearls  of  the  sea  : 
Her  hair  unbound  to  the  indolent  breeze, 
My  beautiful  queen  of  the  sunset  seas. 

True  is  she :  not  as  some  problem  difficult  of  old, 
That    sages    wrought    through    slow    elapse    of 

years ; 

Not  with  the  dull  precision  of  a  tale  oft  told, 
Of  tender  hopes  wrecked  in  a  gulf  of  fears ; 
But  true  as  sunbeams  that  sandal  her  feet, 
My  beautiful  queen,  so  loyal  and  sweet, 
True  as  the  light  on  her  health-blowing  hills, 
So  tender  her  pledge,  so  fleet  she  fulfills. 

Pure  is  she :  not  as  a  saint,  so  isolate  and  white, 
In  sacred  atmosphere  of  vestal  shrine, 


SANTA   BARBARA.  41 

Where    incensed    tapers,  waning,    fling    an    astral 

light, 
And  fretted  walls  of  alabaster  shine ; 

But  pure  with  the  glitter  of  sea-blown  things, 
With  silvery  ripple  of  fount  and  springs, 
With  balms  that  waft  over  tropical  seas, 
WTith  calms  that  await  by  evergreen   trees. 

Wise    is    she :   with    myth    of    Druid  and    sylvan 

fawn, 

And  fabled  wealth  of  mystic  Indian  lore; 
Her  lavish  olive    slopes,  her    grain-land,  and   her 

corn, — 

O  golden  fruitage  on  a  golden  floor !  — 
Her  opulent  breath,  the  fragrance  of  wine, 
Her    sceptre  the    sunbeams,  her   helmet   the 

vine, 

She  lingers  and  dreams  of  princes  to  be, 
My  beautiful  queen  of  the  sunset  sea. 


LILIES. 

O  COOL,  white  lily  !  by  dim  rivers  resting, 

Or  languid  blue  lagoon, 
Lifting  thy  sweet  face,  in  solitary  places,. 

To  fervid  skies  of  noon. 

O  pure,  fair  lily  !  through  thy  snowy  fingers 

The  foam  of  the  rivers  glide  ; 
Sunlight   on   thy  shining   forehead    trembling  lin 
gers, 

Thy  cool  lips  kiss  the  tide. 

O  cool,  dim  river  !  thy  light  billows  cresting 

Lily  pure  and  pale ; 
Moonbeams  on  thy  silent  splendors  faintly  quiver, 

In  beauty  strangely  frail. 

Once,    when    my    soul    was    sad,    with    steps    so 

weary, 

I  walked  the  river  shore, 
Weaving  strange    dreams  of  weird   and   shadowy 

fancies, 
The  night  sang  "  Nevermore." 


LILIES.  43 

The  voices  of  the  night,  the  wind,  the  river, 

Told  tales  of  wild  unrest. 

O  river  cold !  to  lie,  with  pale  hands  cross'd,  for 
ever 

Within  thy  quiet  breast. 

But  lilies  pure,  with  alabaster  faces, 

Came  drifting  at  my  feet, 

With  dim,  unearthly  lights  within  the    waxen  fin 
gers, 

And  odors  strangely  sweet. 

O  peaceful  lily !  thou  dost  bear  remembrance 

Of  childhood's  starlit  land  ; 
Saintly  brows  immortal  lilies  wreathe  forever, 

Across  life's  troubled  strand. 
Thus,  lily,  thou  dost  guide  my  wayward  dreaming 

By  heavenly  graces  given  ; 
With  friends  long  passed  I  roam  by  shining  rivers, 

And  dream  sweet  dreams  of  heaven. 


FORECAST. 

SWEET  is  the  promise  of  the  risen  morn; 

A  tinge  of  gold  illumes  the  eastern  skies; 
A  faint,  far  star  foretold  the  day  unborn, 

With  trembling  rays  from  some  far  paradise. 

A  rose-light  flushes  o'er  the  sleepy  hills ; 

The  tidal  seas  break  on  a  tinted  shore ; 
A  new  glad  day  the  prophecy  fulfills,  — 

The  certain  outflow  of  the  pledge  before. 

Now  sweet  the  carol  of  the  free,  wild  birds ; 

The  tender  blossoms    droop  with  shining  dew; 
I  silent  wait  with  thought  too  sweet  for  words, 

Perhaps  to-day  my  dream  of  dreams  comes  true. 

The  perfect  day  swings  through  the  gloried  space ; 
The    trees    wave    wide    with    bright,    unfolded 

blooms ; 
A  golden  languor  fills  this  summer  place, 

And   rose    leaves  waft  with   tender,  sweet   per 
fume. 


FORECAST.  45 

There  is  one  day  so  longed   for  and  so  sweet, 
The  strong,  wide  Future  folds  with  eager  care  ; 

Relent  thy  clasp,  O  Future !  I  entreat, 

And  yield  to-day  my  dream  of  dreams  most  fair. 

A  gentle  fragrance  fills  the  high,  wide  noon; 

The  balmy  air  blows  sweet  across    the  seas  • 
The  frail  white  blossoms  by  the  long  walks  swoon, 

And  cool,  deep  shadows  fringe  the  broad  palm- 
trees. 

This  is  a  forecast  of  the  sweet  To  Be,  — 
The  golden  days  of  beauty  and  of  sun  ; 

The  true,  glad  promise  of  the  sky  and  sea, 
A  pledge  of  joy  for  something  nobly  done. 

Along  the   'lumined  spaces  of  the  West 
A  pale,  gold  star  is  waiting  for  the  nightj 

Fair  as  the  hope  that  wins  my  soul  a  rest, 
With  tender  rays  of  clear,  oncoming  light. 

The  dim,  wide  sky  is  waiting  for  the  moon; 

A  stranded  boat  is  waiting  for  the  tide ; 
A  sea  bird  calls  from  yonder  low  lagoon  ; 

A  weary  shadow  wanders  by  my  side. 


46  FORECAST. 

Perhaps  to-morrow,  kinder  than  to-day, 

Will  crown  my  dream  so  sweet  and  wholly  fair  ; 

The  high  ideal  that  gilds  my  dim,  long  way 
Will  find  a  heaven  and  sweet  fruition  there. 


FULFILLED. 

THE  golden  heats  have  swooned  among  the  hills; 

The   dark   winds  throb    among  the    slumbering 

trees ; 
The  low,  sweet  music  of  the  mountain  rills 

In  trembling  aria  joins  the  choral  seas. 

The  regal  hills  in  purple  robes  enfold ; 

The  mountains  flash  their  moonlit  crests  afar; 
The  sea  foams  toss  their  hair  of  shining  gold, 

And  grasp  their  changeful  robes  from  sky  and 
star. 

The  weary  bird  has  sought  his  covert  nest, 
And  trills  his  mate  a  tender,  love-lade  lay ; 

The  cool  dews  woo  the  sleepy  flowers  to  rest, 
That  odorous   bloomed  the   long,  calm,  golden 
day. 

Here  I  may  sit  with  folded,  restful  hands, 
The  sea-bloWn  spray  ashine  among  my  hair, 


48  FULFILLED. 

And    dream    the    dreams    of    new,    glad,    tropic 

lands, 

And   kiss   the    night  that  balms    each  day-born 
care. 

A  mystical  charm  hath  thy  song,  O  sea ! 

You  woo  with  a  grace  so  tenderly  sweet. 
You  come  a  conquering  king  unto  rne, 

And  fling  your  pearls  at  my  venturesome  feet. 

I  wait  in  the  tremulous  hush  of  the  night; 

The  tropical  winds  blow  sweet  from  afar, 
Athrill  with  beauty  of  valley  and  height, 

Agleam  with  light  of  each  scintillant  star. 

A  hush  is  over  the  mountain  and  hill, 

A  calm  is  over  the  beautiful  sea, 
A  dream  the  glad  hope  of  daylight  fulfilk, 

In  tender  silences  coming  to  me. 

A  dream  of  beauty  so  regally  sweet, 

Of   love  that  is  tenderly  true  ai:d  strong, 

A  straight,  white  way  for  my  venturesome  feet, 
A  poet's  harp  for  my  timorous  song. 


SUNDOWN. 

OVER  the  shining  waters 
At  sunset's  flush  I  came  ; 

The  skies  a  regal  quiver, 
With  darts  of  golden  flame. 

Far  off  the  turreted  city, 

High-roofed  with  gleaming  spires, 
Like  bayonets  of  armies, 

Revealed  by  sunset  fires. 

Westward,  and  kept  asunder 
By  strong  guard  of  the  bay, 

Green  isles,  like  emerald  crescents, 
Enzoned  by  fair  seas  lay. 

I  think,  O  luminous  city ! 

Saint  of  the  crown  and  palm, 
Unto  the  soulful  burden, 

You  waft  of  rest  and  calm. 

I  think,  O  fair  cathedral ! 
Turret  and  steepled  height, 
4 


50  SUNDOWN. 

You  bear  the  weary  laden 

A  gleam  of  heavenward  light. 

I  think,  O  beautiful  island ! 

Far  and  onward  alway, 
Your  golden  crowns  high  arching, 

Between  the  sea  and  the  bay, 

You're  like  some  far,  fair  future, 
f  Flashes  of  sea  between, 

The  present  bridging  ever 
The  past  and  sweet  unseen. 

Musing,  the  golden  arrows 
Vanished  in  dusky  gloom 

To  ranks  of  dusky  warriors, 
Helmet  and  sable  plume. 

Over  the  deep,  dark  waters, 
Sailless,  restful,  and  calm, 

Breath  of  the  sea-side  angel, 
Floated  its  healing  balm. 

I  thought  of  another  ocean, 
Solemn,  sailless,  unknown, 

Wafting  its  viewless  legions 
On  to  a  heavenly  home. 


SUNDOWN.  51 

I  thought  of  another  city, 

Stainless,  pure,  and  unseen, 
A  boundless,  trackless  ocean, 

Darkly  rolling  between : 

The  sweet,  white  hope  that  vanished, 

And  the  lofty,  fair  Ideal, 
The  thought  we  could  not  utter. 

O  City  of  the  Real ! 


BEYOND   THE   NIGHT. 

THE  white  fog  on  the  bay 
Like  scrolls  of  silver  lay, 
And   the  fair   stars   through    heaven's  high  azure 

swung  ; 

And  dim  isles  far  away, 
Beyond  the  opal  bay, 

Strange    incense    through    the    cool    sea-breezes 
flung. 

The  ocean,  white  and  vast, 
Like  some  pale,  ghostly  past, 

Dim  through  the  veil  of  long,  uncertain  years, 
In  might  of  stern  repose, 
Where  pale  the  mist  uprose, 

Calm  as  a  soul  enfranchised  from  its  fears. 

The  wind-harp  swung  and  sighed, 

Where  love  unuttered  died, 
And  great  souls  wept  o'er  mighty  deeds  undone, 

And  through  the  years'  eclipse, 

Like  dim,  white,  distant  ships, 
There  came  a  voice  from  Victory  unwon : 


BEYOND    THE  NIGHT.  53 

O  -doubting  soul  be  strong  ! 

Be  patient,  suffer  long. 
Over  life's  sea  a  new,  glad  morn  shall  rise. 

And  Right  shall  conquer  Wrong, 

And  silence  break  with  song, 
Joy  follow  grief,  and  peace  beam  from  the  skies. 

O  Faith  in  Death's  dark  prison  ! 

Come  forth,  the    Lord  is  risen. 
O  weary  hands !  O  restless,  waning  night ! 

O  watcher  by  the  sea! 

The  heavens  shall  answer  thee,  — 
The  day  has  come  with  glad,  effulgent  light. 


LITTLE  NELL  THAT  DIED. 

THE  shadows  fall  soft  in  the  gloaming, 

The  winds  are  all  hushed  on  the   lea, 
I  hear,  through  the  dull,  fading  twilight, 

My  little  Nell  calling  to  me. 
Over  mountains  and  through  the  valley, 

And  over  the  dreamy,  dim  sea, 
Like  voice  of   an  angel  is  calling 

My  sweet  little  Nellie  to  me. 

The  twilight  of  life  is  descending; 

My  tresses  are  silver  with  years; 
I  seek  out  her  grave  in  the  gloaming, 

And  moisten  the  turf  with  my  tears. 
In  the  glory  of  youth  how  I  loved  her, 

My  darling,  my  angel,  my  pride  ; 
She  sleeps  'neath  the  old  willow's  shadow, 

My  dear  little  Nellie  that  died. 


ENCHANTMENT. 

OH  sweet  blow  the  winds  the  South  Seas  over, 
And    bright    are   the   waves    that   flash   on  the 
shore, 

And  odorous  blooms  of  white-tufted  clover 

Gleam  through  the  gloom  of  the  dark  sycamore. 

Oh  dim  lies  the  world  the  white  stars  under ; 

Asleep  lies  the  bird  in  emerald  nest ; 
The  beautiful  night,  with  pinions  of  slumber, 

Folds  the  sweet  world  on  her  bosom  to  rest. 

Asleep  lies  the  rose,  her  proud  heart  beating 
Aloud  to  the    zephyr,  that  waits  with  a  sigh, 

Her  delicate  breath  a  dainty  greeting, 
O  zephyr  and  rose !  O  tropical  sky  ! 

Asleep  the  pure  lily  swung  by  the  river, 

Her  jeweled  hands  folded  white  on  her  breast, 

With  marvelous  dreams  of  a  princely  giver : 
Dew-drops  are    diamonds    and  moonbeams    the 
crest. 


56  ENCHANTMENT. 

The   river-god  holds  a  reed  for  a  quiver, 

He  catches  the  darts  that  fall  from  the    star, 

A  gossamer  veil  from  mists  of  the  river, 

And  weaves  of  the  moonbeams  a  bridal  car. 

O  lily  and  rose  !  the  eyes  of  the  morning, 
Are  tender  and  true  as  glance  of  the  night, 

And  wonderful  robes  for  bridal    adorning 
Are  woven  by  roseate  ringers  of  light. 

Sweet  odor  and  bloom,  starbeams  and   river, 
Oh  gleaming  of  jewels,  princes  and  crowns, 

A  diamond  dart  from  a  golden  quiver, 

The  smile  of  a  god,  a  fairy's  sweet  frown. 

Awake  in  thy  bower,  O  royal  roses  ! 

All  hail  to  the  king  ascending  the  sea ! 
On  crystalline  throne  the  lily  reposes, 

The  wand  of  enchantment  is  wafted  to  thee. 


ELFIE  GRAY. 

IN  the  sunshine,  in  the  shadow, 

Fairy  feet  astray, 
Gayer  than  the  birds  in  summer, 

Little  Elfie  Gray. 

Happy  all  the  long,  glad  daytime, 
Happy  dreams  at  night; 

Fairer  than  the  buds  in  spring-time 
Is  our  household  light. 

O 

In  the  morning,  in  the  evening, 

Kneeling  down  to  pray, 
With  her  lily  hands   uplifted, 

Little  Elfie  Gray. 

Happy,  winning,  little  blessing, 

Cheering  life's  sad  way; 
Blossom  of   the  early  spring-time, 

Little  Elfie  Gray. 


BY   THE   SEA. 

THE  sunset  glory  had  vanished, 

And  twilight  tender  and  dim 
Stole  over  the  shining  water, 

With  lull  of  a  vesper  hymn. 
And  sobs  of  a  nameless  sorrow 

Were  lost  in  the  great,  white  sea, 
And  stars  in  passionless  splendor 

Shone  over  the  night  and  me. 

And  I  said,  O  great,  sad  ocean ! 

With  billow  and  foam  and  shine, 
You  never  have  stilled  the  beating 

Of  wearier  heart  than  mine. 
The  city  is  strange  and  cruel, 

The  skies  are  distant  and    dumb, 
You  have  heard  my  great,-  white  sorrow, 

And  tenderly  bid  me  come. 

And  I  thought  of  the  sweet,  white  faces, 
And  long,  bright,  swaying  hair, 


BY  THE  SEA.  59 

Where  the  pitiful,  eloquent  billows, 
Would  utter  a  psalm  and  a  prayer; 

And  I  thought  of  the  white  souls  shriven 
From  sorrow,  pain,  and  despair,  — 

Like  a  sweet,  victorious  anthem, 

Swept  down  through  the  aisles  of  air. 

The  desolate,  long  to-morrows, 

With  shudder  of  night  and  sea, 
Were  lost  in  the  wondrous  chorus 

That  floated  from  far  to  me. 
And  I  said,  O  kind,  sweet  ocean !  — 

Like  one  who  utters  a  prayer  — 
Oh  touch  the  dead  face  gently, — 

The  dead,  white  sorrow  there. 

And  I  turned  from  the  pitiful  ocean, 

As  one  from  a  promise  of  rest, 
The  skies  were  distant  and  darkened, 

The  city  lamps  burned  in  the  west; 
And  a  murmur  of  something  too  sacred 

For  mortal  to  utter  or  hear, 
Swept  over  the  vast,  deep   ocean, 

Like  joy  that  follows  a  fear. 

And  I  said,  O  life  !  with  your  burden 
Of  parting  and  passion  and  pain, 


60  BY  THE  SEA. 

The  sun  rises  out  of  your  darkness, 
The  summer  blooms  follow  the  rain ; 

And  something  to  do  and  to  suffer, 
And  something  to  be  and  to  share, 

Is  peace  after  great  tribulation ; 
And  labor  is  worship  and  prayer. 


THE    HAUNTED    HEART. 

I  'M  sitting  by  the  window,  Genie, 

I  'm  musing  all  alone  • 
And  with  dim  images  are  blent 

The  wind's  deserted  tone. 


The  rain  is  falling   fast,  Genie, 
The  gray,  cold,  driving  rain ; 

And  mystic  forms  seem  wandering  by 
In  viewless  spirit  train. 

There  's  one  so  meekly  fair,  Genie, 

With  mild,  religious  eyes  ; 
She  drooped  and  faded  long  ago, 

As  spring's  pale  blossom  dies. 

I  seem  to  hear  her  voice,  Genie, 

I  meet  her  spirit-gaze ; 
'T  is  sadder  now  than  when  we  met 

In  childhood's  happier  days. 


62  THE  HAUNTED  HEART. 

A  change,  a  deep,  dark  change,  Genie, 
Swept  o'er  her  early  years ; 

The  path  of  love,  though  fair,  Genie, 
Is  marked  by  woman's  tears. 

Another  seems  to  come,  Genie, 
That  played  beneath  our  trees  ; 

He  left  the  pure,  first  loves  of  youth 
To  roam  the  shining  seas. 

He  '11  join  no  more  our  band,  Genie, 

At  twilight  soft  and  dim  ; 
His  voice  is  never  heard,  Genie, 

To  chant  our  evening  hymn. 

We  cannot  strew  his  grave,  Genie, 
With  flowers  we  love  so  well ; 

He  sleeps  not  near  his  boyhood's  home, 
In  church-yard  nor  in  dell. 

'T  is  a  wild  and  mournful  tomb,  Genie, 
Far  down  the  starless  deep; 

A  fearful  thing  to  die  at  sea : 
Sweet  Genie,  do  not  weep. 


LIFE. 

How  should  I  go? 

With  life  so  sweetly  laden  trusted  me, 
Still  drifting  surely  toward  the  open  sea ; 
With  one  pale  shade  forever  at  the  helm, 
Bearing  me  on  to  that  mysterious  realm 

I  long  to  know? 

What  shall  I  do  ? 

With  this  great  gift,  I  may  not  call  my  own, 
A  strange  sweet  dreaming  o  'er  my  soul  has  flown, 
As  if  some  thrilling  voice  from  life  immortal, 
With  new  sweet    symphonies  from   heaven's   high 
portal, 

Bore  life  anew. 

Thus  may  it  be. 

To  garner  for  that  harvest  precious  sheaves, 
To  find  the  tree  of   life  with  healing  leaves, 
To  lift  the  burden  from  some  weary  one, 
To  hear  at  last  from    Christ's  kind  lips,  "Well 
done. 

Come  unto  me." 


SING  TO    ME,  DARLING. 

SING  to  me,  darling ;  let  light  murmurs  creep 
Over  my  spirit  where  shadows  lie  deep ; 
Sing,  and  my  languishing  heart  may  grow  strong, 
Borne  on  the  billows  of  impassioned  song  ; 
Fold  me  so  close  in  your  tender  embrace, 
Wipe  the  cold  drops  from  my  forehead  and  face  ; 
Tear  the  earth  laurels  away  from  my  brow, 
Wreathe  it  with  myrtle  and  cypress  leaves  now  ; 
Bitter  the  chalice  from  earth's  troubled  spring, 
Fold  me  so  tenderly,  kiss  me  and   sing. 

Sing  to  me,  darling ;  since  last  we  have  met 
Blossoms  have  perished  and  hope  stars  have  set ; 
Doubt    through    the  faith    of   my    childhood    has 

crept  ; 
Change  through   the   realm  of   these   sweet  years 

has  swept. 

Wealth  cannot  people  the  heart's  solitude  ; 
Fame  on  its  sanctity  may  not  intrude  ; 
Years  since  we  parted,  care-laden  and  long, 
Seem  but  a  dream,  while  I  list  your  sweet  song. 


SING    TO  ME,   DARLING.  65 

Sing  to  me,  darling ;  your  voice  thrills  the  while, 
Soft  as  a  hymn  floating  through  the  dim  aisle  ; 
Sing  of  the  martyr,  the  cross,  and  the  palm; 
Chant  solemn  dirges,  then  sing  a  glad  psalm ; 
Sing  of  the  Lowly,  who  suffered  and  died; 
Sing  of  the  Holy  One,  long  crucified; 
Sing,  and  this  burden  of  sorrow  may  be 
Gems  in  the  crown  that  is  waiting  for  me. 


ONWARD. 

[In  an  excellent  literary  paper  published  in  Chicago,  111.,  we  find  a  gem 
from  the  pen  of  CORDELIA  HAVENS,  concerning  which  the  editor  says  : 
"  Five  years  ago  this  charming  little  poem  was  published  for  the  first  time 
in  the  '  Home  Circle.'  A  desire  by  some  dear  friends  that  it  should  re- 
enter  the  columns  of  the  press  induces  us  to  republish  it.  Its  own  merits 
were  sufficient  for  this  object.  It  was  first  published  under  the  lady's  own 
signature,  who  has  removed  to  the  Pacific  Coast  and  assumed  the  nont  de 
plume  of  CORDELIA  HAVENS.  We  see  some  of  her  productions  in  the 
'  Overland  Monthly,'  and  congratulate  that  magazine  upon  the  accession 
of  such  a  contributor  to  its  columns."  To  the  foregoing  we  wish  to  add 
our  most  cordial  assent.  —  ED.  SANTA  BARBARA  PRESS.] 

ONWARD,  roll  onward,  O  River  of  Time  ! 

Bear  my  frail  bark  to  a  happier  clime  : 

Faster,  roll  faster,  ye  billowy  years ! 

Bear  me  away  from  my  grief  and  my  tears. 

Cold  is  the  breath  of  the  pitiless  blast ; 

Dark    are    the    phantoms    that    frown    from    the 

past  : 

Bear  me  away  from  my  fears  and  my  pain  ; 
Bear  me  away  from  the  wind  and  the  rain. 

Onward,  roll  onward,  O  River  of  Life  ! 
Take  me  away  from  my  toil  and  my  strife  ; 


ONWARD.  67 

Never,  oh,  never,  turn  backward  again  ; 
Smiles  have  been  waste'd  and  tears  wept  in  vain. 
Strong  are  the  rocks  that  heave  back  the  sea,  — 
Heave  back  the  years  that  return  unto  me. 
Swift    is    the     comet     that    sweeps    through     its 

track ; 
Years,  sweep  ye  onward,  but  never  turn   back. 

Onward,  roll  onward,  O  shuddering  Tide  ! 
I  watch  for  thy  shore  on  the  shadowless  side ; 
I  wait  for  a  gleam  of  the  shimmering  sand ; 
I  long  for  the  joys  of  that  far  distant  land. 
Hide  those  sad  years  in  thy  sheltering  breast; 
Bring  me  a  dream  of  the  weary  at  rest. 
Mother,  remember  thy  child  on  Life's  sea  ; 
Wait  by  the  river,  but  come  not  to  me. 

Onward,  roll  onward,  O  pitiless  years ! 
Bring  me  a  rest  from  my  toil  and  my  fears  ; 
The  smiles  and  the  tears  I  Ve  given  to  thee 
Are  lost  mid  the  wrecks  of  life's  fathomless  sea. 
I  'm  weary  of  labor,  I  'm  weary  of  pain,  — 
They  wait  by  the  river,  yet  wait  all  in  vain. 
Hide  them  forever,  their  smiles  and  their  tears,  — 
O  River  of  Life,  these  pitiless  years. 


I   REMEMBER. 

I  REMEMBER,  I  remember, 

How  I  wandered  all  alone, 
When  the  young  moon's  pale,  sweet  glimmer 

On  the  flashing  waters  shone, 
Where  the  night-bird  told  his  story, 

'Neath  the  starlight  dim  and  pale, 
Where  the  dew-drops  fell  caressing 

On  the  blossoms  weak  and  frail. 

I  remember,  I  remember. 

How  my  cheeks  were  bathed  in  tears, 
As  fond  memory  chased  each  vision 

Through  the  vista  of  the  years ; 
And  my  eyes  grew  sad  and  dreamy, 

When  the  grief-drops  ceased  to  flow, 
And  a  darksome  spell  was  resting 

O'er  my  spirit  long  ago. 

I  remember,  I  remember, 
From  the  far-off  spirit  land, 


I  REMEMBER.  69 

Came  a  form  of  saint-like  beauty, 
Beck'ning  with  her  angel  hand. 

How  she  spoke  of  joys  unfading, 
In  the  realm  of  purer  things  ; 

How  she  soothed  my  unveiled  sorrow, 
Hov'ring  on  her  viewless  wings. 

I  remember,  I  remember, 

How  my  dreamy  visions  fled  ; 
Yet  I  felt  my  angel  mother 

Was  not  numbered  with  the'  dead. 
And  upon  my  spirit  resting 

Came  a  sweet,  untroubled  calm, 
Healing  o'er  each  wound  of  sorrow, 

With  its  pure  and  holy  balm. 


THE  CHIEFTAIN'S    REVENGE. 

IN  native  pride  a  chieftain  stood, 

The  bow  he  held  unstrung, 
And  sadly  from  his  burning  brow 

His  broken  plume  he  flung. 

He  stood  and  mused  there  long  and  wild 
Of  the  pale-face's  bitter  thrall, 

For  oft  his  eagle  eye  had  turned 
To  see   his    brother  fall. 

"  Ere  last  year's  moon  had  waned,"  said   he, 

"The  pale-face  sought  our  land, 
And  they  have  slain  my  father's  race, — 
The  best  of  all  rny  band. 

"I  grieved  to  see  my  kindred  fall, 
As  oft  the  foe  gained  ground ; 
And  wept  that  e'er  the    stranger's  foot 
Should  press  my  father's  mound. 

"  Once,  long  ago,  these  valleys  fair, 
These  forests  deep  and  wild, 


THE   CHIEFTAIN'S  REVENGE.  J\ 

I  roamed  with  free  and  careless  step, 
A  happy,  fearless  child. 

The  woodman's  axe  and  lifted  arm 

Have  felled  those  giant  trees, 
And  spirits  chant  their  songs  no  more 

Amid  their  whispering  leaves." 

Then  haughty  grew  the  chieftain's  brow, 

And  flashing  dark  his  eye ; 
He  grasped  his  quivering  bow,  and  said  : 

"The  pale-face  soon  shall  die." 

Then  ere  the  stars  had  faded, 
Or  the  midnight  taper  gleamed, 

A  light  along  the    stranger's  coast 
In. fiery  brightness  beamed. 

Deep  wrapt  within  the  burning  shroud 

That  wrathful  hand  had  made, 
The  white    man  groaned  amid  the  flame, 

Or  struggled  with  the  blade. 

And  when  the  rosy  light  of   dawn 

Stole  o'er  the  eastern  main, 
The  black  and  smoking  ruins 

Were  smouldering  on  the  plain. 


THE   CHIEFTAIN'S  REVENGE. 

The  Indian,  on  a  cliff  near  by, 
Stood  gazing  sad  and  long, 

And  turned  in  listless  languor  then 
To  chant  his  own  death-song. 

And  when  another  moon  had  shone 

Upon  the  ocean  wave, 
The  night  bird  sung  her  lonely  lays 

Above  the  chieftain's  grave. 


THE  BATTLE  WON. 

IT   was    the   hushed    midnight :  darkness    was    on 

the  sky  ; 
The     stars     forgot    their    light,     and    the    damp 

winds  hurried  by. 
There  was    silence  in  the  glen  ;  the   river   lashed 

the  shore, 
When  rose  those   fearless    men  to  welter  in  their 

gore. 

All  by  the  river  side,  all  down  the   grassy  plain, 
Moans    of    the    rolling    tide    would    mingle    with 

the  slain. 

Yet  fearless,  calm,  and  brave,  their  banners  wav 
ing  high, 
The  federal  warriors    gave    a  shout  that  rent  the 

sky. 
The    clouds    spread    like    a    pall,    and    the    river 

ceased  its  moan, 
A  clash   through    the    columns    tall,  and  a  heavy 

dying  groan. 


74  THE  BATTLE  WON. 

There  came  a  thunder  sound,  and  the  fiery  shells 

burst  high  ; 
There   was    blood    upon    the    ground ;  there   was 

light  upon  the  sky. 
The  guns  flashed  on   the    hill;  the   guns    flashed 

by  the  bay  ; 
But  the  troops  rushed  onward  still,  like  wild  deer 

in  their   play. 
The    earth  was    a   bloody  seal ;  the    air   was    all 

aflame, 

Where    the    warrior's    bloody   steel    on    the    war 
rior's  armor  came. 
And   still    they  fought    and    fell,    where  the    fiery 

torrent  rolled. 
Till    o'er   that   bloody  dell    shone   the   rising .  sun 

of  gold ; 

Then    hearts   grew  sick    and  weak,  and  the  brav 
est  of  the  brave 
Grew  pale,  and  ceased  to  speak  :    each    step  was 

on  a  grave. 
Then    courage    on    them    fell ;  their   foemen    saw 

their  doom  ; 
With    shout    and    trumpet-knell,    that   filled   their 

ranks  with  gloom, 
Down  swept,  with    rage    and  power,  with   cannon 

and  with  shell,  — 


THE  BATTLE    WON.  75 

Down    poured    that  flaming  shower,  and   fast  the 

foeman  fell ; 
And  ere    that    day  was   done    the    loyal    banners 

waved, 
And  the   lurid  setting  sun  flashed  o'er    a  country 

saved. 


DRIFTING  AWAY. 

DRIFTING  away  to  the  mystical   seas, 

Laden  with  fruit  of  the  bright  summer  years ; 
Leaving  the  lone,  leafless  autumn  to  me, 

Freighted  with   hope,   and  with  song,  and  with 

fears. 
Drifting  away  to  th'  eternal  shore, 

Laden    with   hopes   from   the   years    that    have 

fled; 
Leaving  the  wail  of  a  sad  "  Nevermore ; " 

Leaving  the  graves  of  the  beautiful  dead. 

Drifting  away  through  the  tide  of  the  years, 

Breasting  the  waves  of  the  treacherous  stream ; 
Leaving  a  lone,  doubting  watcher  with  tears, 

Bearing  the  wealth  of  life's  midsummer  dream. 
Drifting  away  to  th'  eternal  shore, 

Bearing  the  song  that  the  early  years   sung ; 
Echoes  the  wail  of  the  lone  nevermore, 

Back  by  the  winds    of    the  autumn-night  flung. 


DRIFTING  AWAY.  77 

Drifting  away  through  the  daylight  and  dark  ; 

Drifting  away  to  the  solemn  unknown ; 
Afloat  on  the  river,  my  venturesome  bark, 

Laden    with     hopes    from    the    summer    years 

flown. 
Drifting  away   on  the  mystical  tide ; 

Drifting  alone  to  the  eternal  sea  ; 
Angels  will  wait  on  that  echoless   side, 

Guarding  my  bark  and  its  treasures  for  me. 


ON    NEW   YEAR'S    EVE. 

I  WAIT  in  the  dusk  of  the  vanishing  years, 
I  list  to  the  tread  of  their  lingering  feet. 

Their   white    faces   glide    through    a   glimmer    of 

tears, 
With  waft  of  a  melody  subtle  and  sweet. 

The  beautiful  years  in  the  level,  sweet  light 
Of  a  far  young  moon  in  her  languishing  sway, 

With  glimmer  of  stars  on  their  evergreen  height, 
And    glittering    dreams    of     a   sweet    summer 
day. 

That  opulent  day  mid  the  fragrant,  white  year, 
That   year   of   sweet  promise  that  came   never 
more, 
But   in    dim,    broken    dreams    of    a    summertide 

near, 

With    perfect    white    blooms    on    a    luminous 
shore. 


ON  NEW  YEAR'S  EVE.  79 

Oh,  that  turbulent  year,  with  never  a  sun! 

Oh,  wildering  briers  with  never  a  rose ! 
Oh,  white,  frozen  faces  when   battles  were   done, 

And  strange,  crimson  shroud  of  the  warrior's 
repose. 

Oh,  where  is  the  sun  of  those  shuddering  years  ? 

And  where  is  the  summer  with  never  a  bloom  ? 
Oh,  where  is  the  heaven  we  fret  with  our  tears  ? 

Oh  great,  weary  years  in  the  blank,  starless 
gloom. 

But  the  sweet,  white  years  rolled  over  the  pain, 
And   the   balm   leaves   trailed   in  the   paths  of 

the  Rod; 

And  the  brave,  tried  souls  of  our  glorified  slain, 
With  the    blooms   grew  fair   in  the    summer  of 
God. 

I  wait  in  the  dusk  of  the  shadowy  years, 

And  I  think  of  the  hopes  and  loves  that  have 

fled, 
The    light    and    the    blossom    that    vanished    in 

tears, 

And  heaven  seems  near  with  the  Beautiful 
Dead. 


80  ON  NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 

And  I  think  this  burden  of  crosses  and  cares 
Is  blessed  and  kind  when  the  journey  is  trod, 

The  shadow  of  Angels  that  walk  unawares, 
And  lead  to  the  Calms  by  the  River  of  God. 


REQUIEM. 

PALE  rose  the  moon  beyond  the  mountain  side ; 
Pale  gleams  a  star  where  Day  in  sorrow  died ; 
Cold  comes  the  wind  from  o'er  the  western  sea; 
Cold,  lone,  and  dark  the  world  is  left  to  me. 

Silent  the  voices  that  thrilled  through  the  past ; 
Silent  the  hearts  and  hands  oft  I  have  clasped; 
Cold  are  the  brows  that'  Death's  pale  fingers 

pressed, — 
Cold    as    the    snow-wreath,    on    high    mountain 

crest. 

Strong    grows    the    oak    beneat'h   the   wind    and 

rain; 

Strong  grows  the  heart  beneath  a  bitter  pain ; 
Soft  beams  a  star  where  erst  the  sun  had  set; 
Calm  now  the  face  that  bitter  tears  have  wet. 

Deep  lie  the  pearls  beneath  the  chanting  waves ; 
Deep  in  the  heart  lie  -many  shrouded  graves ; 
Clasp  thy  pale  gems,  O  waves  of  moaning  sea  ! 
Clasp,  O  sad  heart!   the  loves  that  died  to  thee. 
6 


82  REQUIEM. 

Fair  are  the  gems  in  the  dark  ocean's  cave; 
Fair   are  the  blossoms  that  bloom  on  the  grave  ; 
Pure  is  the  dawn  from  night  of  falling  rain; 
Pure  is  the  heart  that  trusts  through  Life's  deep 
pain. 


LENT. 

I  KNELT  alone  with  my  soul,  my  sorrowful  soul, 
With  sins  of   omission    and   commission    in   long 

scroll, 

While  angels  of  fast  .and  Lenten  confession 
Awaited  my  audible,  trembling  expression. 
I    drank   the   bitter   lees   of   the  soul   that   dares 

look 

With  fatal  scrutiny  on  the  unwritten  book, 
That  clasped  and  .hidden  lies,  close  sealed  to  all 

but  God, — 
That  book  of  human  life,  wide-open  unto  God. 

I  lifted  up  my  prayer  of  passion  and  of  loss; 
To  heights  of   God's  great  pity  I  took  my  weary 

cross ; 

I  said  :  Of  sinners  and  sinning  I  am  the  chief ; 
Not  unbelief,  dear  Father,  but  perfect  belief ; 
Yet   dumb    I    sat   and   heard   thy   precious   truth 

denied, 
And   walked    in    pleasant    places,    while    Christs 

were  crucified. 


84  LENT. 

Since  from   the  deeps   of   chaos   came   organized 

decree 
The  primal  law  is  manifest  in  all,  save  me. 

For   when  I   knew  thy  truth,  dear   God,  I  spoke 

it  not, 

Or  'mid  the  taunting  of  earth  voices  half  forgot. 
The  constellations  sweep  forever  in  their  place ; 
The  earth  is  young  forever,  with  sweet  infant 

grace ; 

The  glory  of  this  morn  the  primal  morning  saw ; 
The  glow-worms  praise  Thee  and  know  the  life 

of  thy  law. 

I  have  loved  for  human  love :    Thou  art  divine  j 
Oh,  let  thy  smiling  countenance  above  me  shine. 

When  to  this  weary  soul  shall  Easter  morn 
arise  ? 

Thou  know'st  my  Lenten  sorrow,  my  life  sacri 
fice; 

How  often  and  often  the  bitter  outweighs  the 
sweet, 

And  the  glowing,  brimful  goblet  is  dashed  to 
my  feet. 

I  keep  my  fast  by  day,  I  keep  ray  watch  by 
'  night ; 


LENT.  85 

I    look   through   the   crystal    of   tears,  be   it  ever 

so  light ; 

I  pour  my  soul  in  oblation,  I  yield  my  youth  : 
Oh,  grant  me,  dear  Father,  forever,  thy  Spirit  of 

Truth. 


EASTER. 

WHILE  in  the  East  the  stars  with  primal  splendor 
Move  white    and    shining   through   the    ancient 

skies, 

A  holy  Presence  cometh,  still  and  tender,  — 
The  dawning  glory,  thrilled  with  swift  surprise, 
When  Christ  arose. 

How  did    He    come,  and  with  what    tender  mes 
sage 

Will  He  return,  this  resurrection  morn  ? 
With  what  new  joy,  or  with  what    angel  presage, 
Or  swelling  anthem,  shall  the  day  new  born 
Greet  Him  anew  ? 

With  what  glad  psalm 
Shall  we  forget  the  weary  Lenten  crosses, — 

The  heavy  watches  through  the  awful  night? 
With  what  new  gift  shall    Heaven  replete  earth's 

losses, 

What  touch  restore  our  blindness  into  sight, 
With  heavenly  calm  ? 


EASTER.  87 

«  The  Christ  arose  : 

Then  unto  Death  comes  Life's  new  resurrection ; 
Life's  awful  sorrows  and  Death's  bitter  pain 
Are  sacred  chrisms,  to  his  own  perfection, 
And  Lenten  sacrifice  is  Easter  gain  — 
Its  toil,  repose. 

From  that  fair  home 
Of  many  mansions,  in  the  sunrise  shining, 

With  tender  footfalls,  noiseless  by  the  way, 
The  Presence  comes,  with  his  beloved  reclining, 
With  tender  mandate,  on  this  Easter  Day, 
Unto  his  own. 

Come  unto  me, 
From  out  the  shadow  of  Earth's  lowly  places  ; 

Forth  from  the  life  so  weary,  hard,  and  plain, 
The  dead  joys  shine  anew  from  angel  faces ; 
My   touch   is   healing    on    the    bruised    heart's 
pain, 

I  come  again. 


EASTER. 

OH  could  we  wait  with  them,  in  vigils  keeping 

The  sad  nights  through, 
Those  worn  disciples,  or  from  troubled  sleeping 

Awake   anew, 

And  know  the  Lord  had.  risen  from  the  grave, 
What  should  we  crave  ? 

I  think  that  I  should  ask  some  tender  token 

From  the  old  life, 
If  through  the  awful  silence  He  had  broken 

The  mortal  strife 

Still  lingered  in  the  holy  atmosphere 
He  brought  so  near. 

And  if  upon  the  resurrection  morning 

I  once  might  see 

The   wondrous   splendor  o'er    his  features    dawn 
ing, 

Although  it  be 

A  tender  presence  passing  swift  and  white 
With  peace  and  light. 


EASTEA.  89 

Beyond  the  need  of   heavy,  Lenten  grieving, 

The  fast  and  cross  • 
To  the  sad  soul  a  heavenly  prescience  leaving 

For  pain  and  loss  ; 

To  wait  at  sunrise  by  that  conquered  grave, 
No  more  I  'd  crave. 

Yet  through  this  calm,  sweet,  hallowed  Easter, 

Although  unseen, 
I  think  He  comes,  the  blessed  Guide  and  Master, 

In  peace  serene, 

His  presence  shining  through  the  weary  way, 
To  this  glad  day. 

And  from  that  home  of  many  mansions,  turning, 

Her  sorrow  done, 
Perhaps  the  Mary,  with  that  earthward  yearning 

For  Christ  the  Son, 
Will  listen  to  the  pean  and  the  psalm, 
From  Heaven's  own  calm. 


CHRISTMAS. 

I  WONDER,  if  among  those  heavenly  places, 

The  restful,  holy  hills  that  shine  afar, 
The     children,    with    their    Christ-like,    heavenly 

faces, 

Will    earthward    turn    to   watch   the  Bethlehem 
star. 

I  wonder,  if  amid  those  mansions  holy, 

The  saints  keep  record  of  this  gracious   morn, 

Or,  if  they  sing,  as  sang   those  Shepherds  lowly, 
The   wondrous   hymn   when    Christ,    the    Lord, 
was  born. 

Or,  if  the  Master's  best  beloved,  turning 
With  face  and  mien  all  tenderly  benign, 

To  where  the  holy  star  is  eastward  burning, 
Will  utter,   "  Master,  lo,  the  olden  sign  ! " 

I  wonder,  if  the  wise,  sweet,  virgin  mother, 
All  shining  white  with  love  for  her  great  Son, 


CHRISTMAS.  91 

Will  tender  turn  to  some  lone,  sorrowing  other, 
With  peace-balms  till  the  agony  be  done. 

I  thipk  with  her  the  chiefest,  gladdest  wonder,  — 
Her  calm,  pure  eyes  upon  the  skies  afar,  — 

Is,  though  the  ages  roll  the  ages  under, 

With   steady   light   still  .beams    the    Bethlehem 
star. 

And  where  will  Christ  be  on  that  day,  I  wonder  ? 

Within  our  portals,  in  our  open  homes, 
With  broken  bars  the  death-gates  roll  asunder, 

And  softly,  all  unseen,  the  Master  comes. 

Will  He  make  record  of  our  high  endeavor, 
The  futile  outgrowth  of  our  gorgeous  dream? 

Or  have  they  drifted  to  the  vast  forever,— 
The  lofty  aims  that  but  a  mirage  seem  ? 

Into  this  life  with  all  its  sad  surprises, 
Unto  the  soul  that  walks  the  world  alone, 

Beyond  the  depths  the  glad,  sweet  star  uprises, 
The  blessed  Master  cometh  to  His  own. 

He  comes  with  light,  into  the  sad,  hard  places, 
He  folds  his  loved  in  raiment  white  as  snow. 


92  CHRISTMAS. 

He  tints  with  life  the  lost,  white,  silent  faces, 
He  leadeth  where  the  restful  rivers  flow. 


We  know  beyond  the  glooms  are  shining  places, 
The  wondrous  chorus  of  the  heavenly  sphere, 

The  sacred  splendor  of  those  saintly  faces, 
Though  all  unseen,  we  sometimes  feel  it  near. 

Beyond  the  veil,,  his  features  unrevealing, 
His  tender  footfalls  soundless  by  the  way, 

He  comes  unto  His  own  in  gracious  dealing, 
The  joyful  herald  of  this  Christmas  Day. 


NEED   OF   ME. 

ONE  thought  sublimely  sweet, 
Where'er  my  wanderings  be, 

One  star  to  guide,  my  feet ;  — 
The  Lord  hath  need  of  me. 

When  friends  are  cold,  or  far, 
Whate'er  of  life  betide, 

Thou  art  my  guiding  star  ; 
In  Thee  I  still  abide. 

When  tears  on  some  sad  face 

In  lonely  vale  I  see, 
The  Lord  is  in  that  place, 

Some  soul  has  need  of  me. 

Across  the  solemn  tide 

The  Father's  mansions  be  j 

Yet  here  -r- 1  will  not  chide,  — 
The  Lord  hath  need  of  me. 


94  NEED   OF  ME. 

When  my  sad  soul  is  thrilled 
By  some  sweet  sounding  chord, 

Or  with  deep  sorrow  filled, 

To  dwell  with  Christ  my  Lord, 

A  voice  serenely  sweet 

In  silence  comes  to  me, 
"Here,  at  my  bleeding  feet, 
I  still  have  need  of  Thee." 

Dear  Lord,  I  work  and  wait, 
Content  that  ;t  is  for  Thee  ; 

When  at  thy  pearly  gate, 

Still,  Lord,  have  need  of  me. 


MY   ANGEL   VISITANT. 

TWILIGHT  o'er  the  earth  was  stealing, 

Twilight  with  its  golden  star  ; 
Many  lamps  were  faintly  gleaming, 

From  the  dusky  city  far ; 
Scarce  the  wild  bird's  wing  was  folded, 

Scarce  was  hushed  his  daytime  song, 
And  each  tiny  blossom  quivered 

As  the  zephyrs  swept  along. 

Fitful  flashed  the  golden  moonbeams 

By  the  quiet  river  shore, 
As  I  leaned  me  sadly  dreaming,— 

Dreaming  as  I  Ve  oft  before  ; 
And  I  heard  the  viewless  flutter 

Of  a  presence  strangely  fair, 
Without  murmur,  touch,  or  vision, 

Yet  I  heard  and  knew  it  there. 

And  I  knew  my  angel  mother, 
With  her  deep,  unfathomed   eyes, 


96  MY  ANGEL    VISITANT. 

With  her  saintly  brow  uplifted 

To  the  glory  of  the  skies. 
Then  I  hushed  my  gentlest  breathing, 

Every  wayward  thought  and  wild, 
While  inaudible  her  blessings 

Fluttered  o'er  her  weary  child. 

All  the  strange,  sweet  hours  of  night-time 

Lingering  touches  swept  my  brow, 
With  a  thrill  of  life  diviner, 

And  I  seem  to  feel  it  now,  — 
But  the  dawn  began  to  quiver,  — 

Dome  of  sapphire  tipped  with  gold, 
And  the  shepherds  o'er  the  mountain 

Called  the  lambkins  from  their  fold. 

Gently,  then,  as  snowy  rose-leaves 

By  celestial  fountains  fall, 
Softly  as  the  angel  voices 

In  their  earthly  missions  call, 
All  invisible  and  soundless, 

Something  vanished  through  the  air, 
And  I  nightly  wait  the  coming, 

Down  the  twilight's  viewless  stair. 


REVERIES. 

SAD  moans  the  wind  this  dreary  December, 

On  barren  hills  lies  the  desolate  snow ; 
On  my  lonely  hearth  the  flickering  ember, 
'Through    shadowful    gleams,    strange    fantasies 

glow,  — 

Phantoms  so  strange,  with  mystical  faces,  — 
With    mild,    pleading     eyes,    from    years    that 

have  gone,  — 

While  firelight  gleams  through  desolate  places, 
And    wintry   winds    moan,    with   low,    mocking 
tone. 

Sad  wails  the  wind  its  wild  legends  telling,  — 

Dying  the  light  on  the  desolate  hearth  ; 
Borne  through  the  night,  in  loud  chorus  swelling, 

Are  dirges  of  death  and  anthems  of  birth; 
Pale  rise  the  guests  from  the  whit'ning  ashes, 
Speak   with    the    breath   of    the    soul-haunting 
wind ; 
7 


98  REVERIES. 

I  know  their  forms,  by  dim  ember  flashes, 

Star-gleams  and  moon-gleams  through  half  open 
blind. 

Sweet  are  the  tales  of   years  that  have  vanished, 

Beautiful  years  that  can  never  return; 
Beautiful  hopes  that  cannot  be  banished, 

In    the    heavens    of    the    soul    their    fires  will 

burn  ; 
Soul  speaks  to  soul  through  years  long  departed, 

Distance  is  swept  by  sweet  mem'ry  aside, 
A  word  resurrects  the  long  silent-hearted, 

We  walk  once  again  by  dear  ones  who  died. 

O  wind  of  the  night,  Q  flickering  ember, 

What  are  thy  sounds  or  thy  faces  to  me? 
What  are  the  psalms  of  this  dreary  December  ? 

What  of  the  things  that  are  not,  or  that  be? 
Tenderest  poems  unwritten  nor  spoken, 

Beautiful  visions  forever  unsaid, 
Links  of  a  love  forever  unbroken, 

Wafts  from  the  souls  of  my  beautiful  dead. 


REPROACH. 

IF  the  bird  thou  hast  cherished 

Escapes  from  thy  hand, 
Impatient  to  flit, 

O'er  wild,  sunlit  land, 
On  high  cliff  to  sit, 
Where  the  wild  chamois  perished, 

Would'st  thou  blame  or  deride  him, 
Whatever  betide  him? 

Thou  would'st  speak  of  the  bird 
With  tenderest  word. 
Would  /  were  a  bird. 

If  the  bird  proudly  perished, 

On  far,  rocky  height, 
With  deep,  cruel  stain, 

In  cold,  starless  night, 
Where  pity  is  vain,  — 
Bird  that  thou  dearly  cherished,  — 
But  he  plumed  for  the  far  sky, 
The  cloud  and  the  star  high, 

Would'st  thou  grant  him  one  tear, 


100  REPROACH. 

In  strange  atmosphere? 
Would  I  were  thus  dear. 


If  the  rose  thou  hast  cherished, 

Uplifts  to  the  sun 
Her  sweet,  blushing  face, 

By  his  soft  beams  won,  — 
Rose  with  tender  grace, 
By  those  bright  arrows  perished, 

Would'st  speak  of   pride  supremely, 
Or  glances  unseemly? 
Ah  no,  O  noble  rose, 
In  glorious  repose. 
Would  I  were  a  rose. 

If  a  star,  through  the  ether 

Should  fall  from  the  sky, 
Adown  through  the  night, 
From  its  mansion  high, 
With  swift,  trailing   light  — 
Lost  on  the  wild,  dreary  heather, 

Would'st  thou  turn  in  deep  scorning, 
And  laugh  with  the  morning? 
Ah  no,  O  lovely  star, 
Wandering  afar. 
Would  /  were  a  star. 


ANNA  SNOW.     (SONG.) 

I  STOOD  where  the  cheek  of  love  grew  pale, 

Where  the  hopes  of  years  lay  low, 
Where  Death  had  kissed  the  marble  brow 

Of  little  Anna  Snow. 
Little  Anna,  darling  Anna, 

Thou  art  sleeping  now, 
And  the  silent  stars  are  weeping 

O'er  thy  snowy  brow. 

I  stood  where  the  moonlight  dim  and  still, 

Lay  on  her  golden   hair; 
She  clasped  her  lily  hands  and  said 

Her  quiet,  evening  prayer. 
Little  Anna,  darling  Anna, 

Thou  art  sleeping  now, 
And  the  silent  stars  are  weeping 

O'er  thy  snowy  brow. 

She  died,  and  now  I  'm  sad  and  lone, 
And  often  I  long  to  go, 


!O2  ANNA   SNOW. 

For  my  "-wearied:  heart  is  in  the  grave 

Wrtlr  little  Anna  Snow. 
,',     ,   .Good- by,  good-by,  darling  Anna, 
,  ;   :. '     /Thou  art*  sleeping  >  now, 

And  the  silent  stars  are  weeping 
O'er  thy  snowy  brow. 


ALMOST. 

SOME  time,    amid   the   pauses    of    our   care    and 

strife, 

Comes  a  solemn  yearning  for  a  nobler  life  — 
For  some  deeper  purpose,  for  a  light  divine, 
O'er  our   darkened    pathway    some    pure    star    to 

shine. 

And  we  almost  catch  the  meaning  life  portrays; 
Almost  lose,  in  adoration,  life's  dark  days  ; 
Almost  see  the  end  triumphant  drawing  nigh  — 
See  the  signs  of  victory  bending   from  the  sky; 

Almost  grasp  the  secret  of  eternal  things ; 
Almost  see  the  gleaming  of  immortal  wings  ; 
Almost  hear  the  answer  to  our  longing   cry ; 
Almost    know    the    wherefore     to    our    ceaseless 
why; 

Almost But  hereafter,  O  glad  soul  of  mine. 

Reap  the  full  fruition  of  this  cross  of  thine; 


IO4  ALMOST. 

Know   what    now   but   darkly    through    the    glass 

appears  ; 
Find  the  perfect  answer   to  thy  woe  and  tears. 

Courage,    then,    faint-hearted    pilgrim !     With    the 

blest, 

At  life's  weary  ending,  cometh  peaceful  rest ! 
After  life's  long  supplication,  heaven  is  sweet ! 
After  life's  great  tribulation,  joy  complete  ! 


AFTERWARD. 

ORION  hid  in  a  phantom  sky, 

Where  clouds  rolled  up  from  the  southern  seas 
The  moon  like  a  pallid  ghost  slid  by 

The  shrouded  path  of  the  Pleiades  ;  — 
One  single  star  on  the  mountain  height, 

Serene  and   fair  from  its  heavenly  goal, 
A  steady  gleam  flung  over  the  night, 

Like  thought  of  God  to  a  troubled  soul. 

The  swift  simoon  swung  over  the   plain 

In  sullen  wrath  his  withering  breath  ; 
The  blank  sky  rifted  a  leaden   rain  ; 

My  rose  blooms  swooned  in  pallor  of  death  ; 
Like  waft  from  the  realm  of  immortal  bloom, 

A  fragrance  stole  transcendingly  sweet. 
A  strange  white  flower  entangled  the  gloom, 

The  hushed  wind  flung  at  my  waiting  feet. 

My  bird  that  thrilled  the  luminous  dawn, 
With  song  too  glad  for  the  nether  years, 


106  AFTERWARD. 

Evanished  to  thrill  the  glorified  morn, 

In  sunlit  space  of   the  swinging  spheres ;  — 

My  tiny,  brown  bird  trilled  all  day  long, 
A  melody  low  and   tenderly  sweet, 

A  free,  glad  life  breathed  into  the  song, 
A  sweet,  white  path  enchanted  my  feet. 

A  lofty  soul  a  solitude  sought, 

A  tangled,  bloomless  venturesome  maze; 
A  fearless  bark  on  a  sea  of  thought, 

A  trackless  waste  of  wildering  ways ; 
But  step  by  step  and  in  thought  by  thought, 

The  intricate  chaos  safely  trod, 
For,  through  those  splendid  purposes  wrought 

A  love  of  truth  and  a  thought  of  God. 

The  darkest  cloud  embosoms  a  star ; 

The  wildest  grief  imprisons  a  balm  ; 
The  storms  that  sweep  and  battle  afar, 

May  waft  a  breath  from  heaven's  own  calm ; 
And  while  aweary  we  turn  the  page 

That  slow  reveals  God's  infinite  plan, 
We  catch  a  gleam  of  the  Golden  Age, 

The  grand  ideal  of  the  Perfect  Man. 


THE  WEDDED   LIFE. 

THOU  of  the  loyal  heart, 

Tender  and  kind, 
Life  of  my  life  a  part, 

Mine,  as  I  'm  thine ; 
Deep  in  thy  peerless  soul, 

Fountains  of  truth  ; 
Years  will  unchanging  roll, 

Youth  of  my  youth. 

Dear  as  the  morning   light, 

Free  from  all  care  ; 
Dear  as  the  starry  night, 

Pure  and  as  fair : 
Close  to  thy  faithful   heart 

Tenderly  fold  ; 
Love  of  God's  love  a  part 

Cannot  grow  cold. 

Thou  of  the  noble  life, 
Living  for  me, 


108  THE    WEDDED  LIFE. 

I  am  thy  trusting  wife, 

Loving  but  thee : 
Time  brings  no  change  in  me, 

Death  cannot  part ; 
God  will  be  kind  to  thee, 

Heart  of  my  heart. 


CHRISTMAS   HYMN. 

PEACE,  peace  o'er  the  ransomed  world, 

Living,  flowing,  and  free ; 
Peace,  peace  on  the  shining  hills, 

Peace  o'er  land  and  sea : 
Calm  through  the  dawn  holy 

Blessings  flutter  and  fall ; 
Peace,  peace  as  a  river, 

For  Heaven  is  over  all. 

Love,  love  o'er  the  ransomed  world, 

Blending  earth  and  sky; 
Love,  love  from  the  angel  songs 

That  cannot  change  or  die  : 
Soft  through  the  light  dawning 

Angel  ministries  fall ; 
Love,  love  as  a  fountain, 

For  God  is  over  all. 

Joy,  joy  o'er  the  ransomed  world, 
Sung  from  harp  and  choir; 


IIO  CHRISTMAS  HYMN. 

Joy,  through  chant  and  paean  rung, 
From  dome  to  flashing  spire  : 

Glorious,  glad  tidings, 

Good-will  and  peace,  the  call : 

Joy,  joy  as  the  morning, 
For  Christ  is  over  all. 


TRUST. 

DOES  life's  strange  and  wayward  journey 

Aimless  seem,  — 
A  wayward,  causeless  dream, 
Where  deep  woes  betide, 
Where  hopes  are  crucified? 
Beyond  our  vision's  ken  God  works  our  weal, 

Forever  near; 

Amid  life's  pain  and  mystery,  why  feel 
One  fear  ? 

Should  our  loved  be  early  taken, 

While  we  grieve 

For  life's  young,  withered  leaves  — 
With  soul-anguished  cry, 
"Father,  tell  us  why," — 
From  the  chill  waters  and  life's  wasted  bloom, 

Under  the  rod, 
While    groping    blindly    through    the    dusk    and 

gloom, 
Trust  God. 


TI2  TRUST. 

Are  we  seeking,  bowed  with  sorrows, 

All  alone, 

That  undiscovered  zone, 
By  the  sacred  cross 
We  may  bear  our  loss. 
Why  fear  what  Christ,  the  holiest, 

Has  borne  before  ? 
He  leaveth  us,  the  lone,  the  lowliest, 
No  more. 


MY  HEAVENLY  FRIEND. 

HAVE  you  forgotten  me,  my  best  beloved, 

My  own,  I  wonder? 

Scarce    three    lone   years    agone    were    our   close 
paths 

Riven  asunder. 

Have   you    known    how    I    sought    you,    precious 

one ; 

My  true,  my  dearest  ? 
And  deemed,  when    midnight  glooming  filled   my 

room, 
Your  presence  nearest? 

Did  my  wild  anguish  thrill  you,  ransomed  one, 

In  heaven's  repose ; 
Or,  when  my  Woe  with  Peace  was  reconciled, 

Glad  paeans  rose  ? 

When    you  were  dying,    peerless  one,    you   called 

me, 
Like  one  off  afar ; 


1 1 4  MY  HE  A  VENL  Y  FRIEND. 

I  could  not  pass  the  gate,  although  you  told  me 
'Twas  half  ajar. 

The  inmost  temple  of  our  being  is 

The  soul's  sacred  shrine ; 
Death  rent  in  twain  one  shadowy  veil  between 

Your  true  life  and  mine. 

Only  one  lance  to  be  shivered,  saintly  one  ; 

One  veil  rent  in  twain ; 
On  that  last,  mighty  day  I  shall  clasp  you, 

My  soul's  own  soul  again. 


RECOMPENSE. 

SHALL  we  seek  in    early  springtide 

To  bind  the  golden  corn  ? 
Shall  we  seek  repose  of  even 

In  flush  of  early  dawn  ? 
Shall  we  look  for  gleaming  harvests 

Through  brown,  unbroken  fields  ? 
Shall  we  garner  fruits  in  summer 

Which  autumn  only  yields  ? 

Shall  we  walk  the  fresh,  green  highlands, 

Or  on  the  pure,  calm  hills  ? 
Shall  we  drink  from  crystal  'fountains, 

And  bathe  in  fragrant  rills  ? 
Shall  we  list  to  heavenward  music, 

Yet  breathe  to  earth  no  song  ? 
Shall  we  rest  in  high,  cool  places, 

While  weak  ones  labor  long? 

Let  us  break  the  sod  in  springtime, 
And  sow  our  scanty  seed ; 


Il6  RECOMPENSE. 

Though  we  weep  o'er  vacant  caskets, 

And  wait  in  patient   need ; 
Though  we  wait  in  .dark,  sad  places, 

And  plead  one  drop  of  rain, 
God  is  God  of  seed  and  harvest, 

And  labor  is  not  vain. 

Should  we  reach  the  golden  hill-tops, 

And  glimpse  the  rising  sun, 
Should  we  hear  from  sacred  voices, 
"  Loved  one,  well  done,  well  done !  " 
May  we  turn  to  lone,  low  valleys, 

To  those  in  shadow  still, 
May  we  bring  sweet  breath  of  mountain, 
And  pure,  sweet  draughts  from  rill. 

May  we  share  with  bitter  sorrow 

Our  unforgotten  pain  ; 
May  we  wait  by  silent  watchers 

That  watch  and  wait  in  vain. 
If  we  sow,  we  shall  be  reapers, 

And  pain  is  not  all  pain; 
There's  recompense  in  sacrifice, 

And  loss  is  greatest  gain. 


WHERE  CAN  THE  SOUL  FIND  REST? 

WHERE  can  the  soul  find  rest, 

Oh  sainted  one  ? 
Where  are  the  peaceful  shores  of  the  blest, 

Life's  labor  done  ? 
Where  is  the  laurel  crown, 

Where  yield  the  cross  ? 
Where  the  full  recompense, 

Counting  our  loss  ? 

Where  art  thou  resting  now, 

Beautiful  saint  ? 
Whence  the  peace  on  thy  radiant  brow? 

Hear  my  complaint. 
Where  fell  thy  burden  down, 

Where  ceased  thy  pain  ? 
When  hushed  thy  griefs  and  tears, 

Falling  like  rain  ? 

•Where  thy  pure  dwelling-place, 
True,  deathless  friend  ? 


Il8     WHERE   CAN  THE  SOUL  FIND  REST? 

Come,  let  me  gaze  on  thy  heavenly  face  : 

One  token  send. 
Where  can  my  soul  repose, 

Striving  no  more, 
Where  find  its  home  with  thee,  — 

Heaven's  blessed  shore  ? 

Over  the  river  cold 

Can  they  forget? 
Friend  of  our  childhood's  time, 

Come  to  us  yet. 
Oh,  come  to  my  weary  soul, 

Longing  for  rest, 
Tell  of  the  summer  land 

Home  of  the  blest. 

Tell  us  to  work  and  wait, 

Watch,  and  be  strong; 
Life,  with  its  labor  and  fleeting  hours, 

Cannot  be  long. 
All  of  its  ills  and  pains 

Patient  endure  • 
Faithful  our  God  shall  be ; 

Heaven  is  secure. 


UNDER  THE  SNOW. 

UNDER  the  frozen  turf, 

Silent  and  cold, 
Wintry  winds  drifting  snow 

Over  the  wold. 

Hands  meekly  folded  down 

Over  his  breast. 
Lost  to  life's  fitful  way, 

God  giveth  rest. 

Cold  are  the  stars-  to-night,  - 

Colder  his  brow  ; 
Over  his  flowerless  grave 

Tearless  I  bow. 

Death  on  his  warrior  brow, 

Frosty  and  white, 
Death  from  his  glorious  eye 

Quenching  the  light. 


120  UNDER   THE  SNOW. 

One  link  is  left  to  us,  — 
God's  tender  soul, 

Folding  thy  soul  in  peace,  — 
Death's  billows  roll. 

Earth-worn  and  weary,  now, 
Knelt  by  thy  grave ; 

Death  has  no  fears  to  us,  — 
God's  love  will  save. 


COMPENSATION. 

AMBITIOUS,  eager  soul, 

Impatient  of  control, 
And  hidden  chains  wherewith  we  're  darkly  bound, 

Seeking  faultless  treasures, 

Grasping  unknown  pleasures, 
And  faulting  much  for  recompense  unfound  ; 

Our  toil  without  fruition, 

In  realms  of  our  transition, 
Are  Life's  instalments  for  the  palm  and  crown  ; 

Record  no  burden  loss, 

Our  Saviour  bore  the  cross  : 

Along    the    heavenward   way   earth's    bleak   hills 
frown. 

Our  wearying  and  our  loss, 

Our  Calvary  and  our  cross, 
Are  shadows  of  that  love  too  great  to  know ; 

Redeemed  through  sacrifice, 

The  fettered  soul  may  rise: 
Why  languish  we  while  thitherward  we  go  ? 


A  DAY  OF  GLADNESS. 

THE  light  wind  lifts  the  tasseled  corn, 
And  ripples  in  the  golden  sheaves. 

And  o'er  the  wide  sward,  warm  and  brown, 
The  lustrous  orange  swings  its  leaves. 

The  constant  roses  bud  and  bloom, 
The  lilies  gleam  along  the  way, 

And  all  the  fair  land  glows  beneath 
The  glory  of  this  perfect  day. 

The  lowing  herds  browse  on  the  hill, 
Or  eager  seek  the  cool,  still  stream  ; 

The  bleating  of  some  distant  flocks 

Falls  on  the  sense,  like  some  dim  dream. 

And  high  athwart  the  ether  space 
The  wild  bird  carols  to  the  sun  ; 

And  drowsy,  golden-crested  bees 

Hum  softly  through  the  pastures  dun. 


A   DAY  OF  GLADNESS.  123 

The  azure  sea  smiles  to  the  sky ; 

The  azure  sky  smiles  on  the  sea; 
The  air  is  glad  with  laugh  and  song ; 

The  warm,  sweet  sunlight  falls  on  me. 

And  I  am  glad,  oh  wide,  sweet  earth, 
For  sometimes  through  the  mist  of  tears 

I  saw  this  landscape  and  this  sea, 
Adown  the  vista  of  the  years. 

I  will  be  glad  ;  for  true  as  thou, 

Oh  warm,  sweet  earth,  and  wide,  sweet  sea, 
A  soul  knelt  at  my  soul's  white  feet, 

With  love  that  answered  love  to  me 

I  will  be  glad  :  the  tropic  sun 

Shines  on  the  land  this  perfect  day , 

And  orange  buds  and  orange  bloorcte 
Lie  white  athwart  my  sunny  way. 


DEAD. 

THE  white  mist  falls  from  stony  skies, 
And  shivers  all  the  world'.s  blank  space 

And  through  the  mists  of  yearning  eyes 
I  look  upon  a  still,  white  face. 

The  sad,  white  roses  scent  the  gloom ; 

The  sobbing  lily  droops  its  head  ; 
One  awful  stillness  fills  the  room  ; 

I  gaze  upon  my  perfect  dead. 

The  frightened  herds  have  left  the  hill ; 

The  birds  have  left  the  shuddering  sky; 
The  distant,  bleating  flocks  are  still  ; 

The  heavens  are  dumb  to  every  cry. 

And  oh,  those  perfect  lips  are  dumb, 
And  stony  dumb  is  everything, 

And  nevermore  sweet  words  shall  come 
From  those  shut  lips,  my  love,  my  king. 


DEAD,  125 

There  is  no  light  upon  the  sky, 
And  awful  sorrows  toss  the  sea; 

The  earth  is  thrilled  with  one  full  cry, 
Oh,  bring  my  love,  my  king, 'to  me! 


ONE. 

You  may  gather  all  the  sweet  roses, 
.     Wild  roses  of   sunny  blown  snow, 
Bright  pansies  of  gold  and  of  purple, 

And  all  the  white  lilies  that  grow; 
Sweet  blossoms  of  garden  and  wayside, 

Flowers  tinted  of  suns  and  of  snows, 
But  leave  me,  O  beautiful  gleaner, 

My  dainty,  pink  bud  of  a  rose. 

You  may  take  the  world  and  its  splendor 
Of  kingdoms  and  purples  and  crowns ; 

The  cruel,  wide  world,  and   surrender 
Your  soul  to  its  smiles  and  its  frowns ; 

And,  dazzled  with  fame  and  with  fortune, 
May  ring  your  proud  name  to  the  dome, 

But  leave  me  the  still,  sunny  places, 
'The  sunny,  sweet  faces  of  home. 

You  may  win  the  proud  and  the  noble 
With  vows  that  are  tender  and  sweet; 


ONE.  12  7 

The  world  in  its  passionate  splendor 
May  kneel  at   your  conquering  feet; 

It  may  come  with  gifts  and  oblations, 
Rare  treasures  of  land  and'  of  sea, 

But  leave,  in  your  glory  and  gladness, 
My  loyal,  one  lover,  to  me. 


THE   LOST   LOVE. 

WAS  it  the  gold  of  the  dead  leaves  falling? 

Was  it  the  sheen  of  the  sunset  sea? 
Was  it  the  voice  of  the  night-bird  calling 

Low,  through  the  dim,  sweet  meadows  to  me? 

Was  it  the  spray  from  the  bright  waves  blowing? 

Was  it  a  sail  on  the  flashing  tide? 
Was  it  a  star  through  the  zenith  going? 

Was  it  the  soul  of  my  fair,  dead  bride  ? 

Linger  with  me,  O  calm  of  the  gloaming, 
Lull  me  with  voices  so  sweet  and  far; 

Waft  her  white  robes,  O  light  breezes  roaming; 
Tint  her  long  tresses,  O  moonbeam  and  star. 

Was  it  a  dream  of  the  sunset  glory? 

Was  it  the  flutter  of  dead  leaves  near? 
Only  a  fancy,  the  old,  sweet  story? 

Fancy,  the  voices  so  tender  and  clear? 


THE  LOST  LOVE.  1 29 

Only  the  mist  of  the  blank  sky  falling; 

Only  the  flash  of  the  wild,  white  sea  ; 
Only  the  sob  of  the  night-wind  calling  ; 

Never  my  lost  love  coming  to  me. 


RESPITE. 

WHEN  wearied  of  futile  endeavor, 

When,  baffled,  I  sink  in  the  strife, 
In  vain  search  the  pledges  of  labor 

Or  solve  the  deep  problems  of  life, 
I  turn  with  the  awful  unanswered 

From  conflict  of  Right  and  of  Wrong, 
I  wonder  if  God  has  forgotten, 

And  victory  dwells  with  the  strong : 
I  question  the  Infinite  forces, 

The  systems  and  cycles  untrod, 
And  trace  through  the  absolute  vastness 

The  Infinite  purpose  of  God. 

I  watch  the  emblazoned  battalions 

Of  stars  wheeling  silently  on, 
The  Heavens  in  their  marvelous  glory, 

The  Earth  and  the  splendor  thereon  ; 
I  marvel  the  vast  incompleteness, 

When  cycles  of  ages  are  trod, 
And  long  for  the  final  revealing 

Of  Thought,  the  creation  of  God; 


RESPITE.  131 

With  thrill  of  the  love  everlasting, 
With  waft  from  the  fateful  undone, 

With  joy  the  vast  purpose  fulfilling, 
I  turn  to  the  mighty  unwon. 

I  know,  though  the  ages  evanish, 

And  evil  and  darkness  withstand, 
The  Heavens  gather  new  constellations, 

Forever  creations  expand ; 
I  think,  with  a  swift  exultation, 

The  forces  of  Truth  shall  avail, 
And  Peace,  like  a  new  benediction, 

Shall  vanquish  the  hosts  that  prevail ; 
I  smile  at  the  futile  endeavor, 

With  eager  soul  turned  to  the  strife ; 
Abide  the  sure  harvest  of  labor, 

And  solve  the  true  problems  of  life. 


THE  USES  OF  LIFE. 

SHOULD  we  grasp  one  truth  profound, 

Should  we  hold  some  region  vast 

Of  the  venerated  Past, 

Should  we  mount   to   height   sublime,  by  mortals 
yet  unfound, 

Should  we  enter  some  temple  untrod  — 

Sacred  to  secrets  of  God: 

If  we  yield  no  answer  to  Humanity's  great  claim, 
We  have  thought  our  thoughts  in  vain. 

Should  our  souls  be  stern  and  strong, 

Dauntless  in  the  battle's  heat, 

Undismayed  by  swift  defeat: 
If   we  strengthen   not  the  weary,  if  we  right  no 
wrong, 

If  we  crush  not  false  with  iron  hand, 

Bind  not  truth  with  golden  band, 
Give  no  courage  to  the  doubting,  to  no  loss  our 

gain  — 
Our  strength,  our  power,  is  vain. 


THE   USES  OF  LIFE.  133 

If  by  ceaseless,  strong  desire, 

Underneath  some  bitter  cross, 

Counting  selfhood  utter  loss  : 
If  through   agony  untold,  one  soul  has   come  up 
higher, 

Yet  calls  not  through  that  shadowy  place, 

Pleading  from  its  calm,  white  place, 
Reaching  down  through  depths  of  conquered  pain, 
We  have  climbed  the  heights  in  vain. 

Should  we  hear,  or  almost  hear, 

Hymns  by  mortal  thought  unknown, 
Saints  have  sung  by  shining  throne  — 

Hear  the    infinite,    sweet   chorus  of   the  swinging 

spheres  : 

If  we  knew  or  if  we  ALMOST  knew, 
Yet  led  no  shrinking  traveler  through 

Portals    dim    of   doubt,    to    pathways    pure,    and 
high,  and  plain, 

We  have  heard  and  known  in  vain. 


ANSWERED. 

O  SOUL  of  the  mountain !  O  soul  of  the  sea ! 
Soul  of  the  valley,  and   all  things  that  be, 
Come  thou  and  whisper  thy  secret  to  me. 

O  solitude  pregnant  with  woe  and  with  weal, 
All  that  a  mortal  may  know  or  may  feel  — 
Language  to  utter  what  God  may  reveal ! 

O  vastness  of  space !  O  freedom  of  thought ! 
Ages  on  ages  thy  being  hath  wrought ; 
Prophets  and  sages  thy  wonders  have  sought. 

O  silent  cathedral !  O  temple  untrod ! 
Pure  as  the  breath  from  the  spirit  of  God ; 
Soul  of  the  sunlight  that  falls  on  the  sod. 

O  spirit  of  goodness !    O  soul  of  the  true ! 
Soul  of  all  matter  that  is  or  that  grew  ; 
Tell  me  the  secret  to  grow  and  to  do. 


ANSWERED.  135 

I  listened  and  waited  in  silence   and  prayer, 

Flung  from  my  spirit  its  cross  of  despair, 

Soul  spoke  to  soul  through  the  measureless  air, 

O  soul !  little  soul  springing  up  from  the  sod, 
Bless  thou   the  blessing,  and   bless  thou  the  rod. 
Goodness  and  truth  is  the  spirit  of  God. 

The  mountain,  the  valley,  the  grass  and  the  tree, 
The  light  and  the  air,  all  space  and  the  sea 
Speak  through  the  silence  that  speaketh  to  thee. 

To  grow  is  to  wait  and  to  watch  and  to  pray, 
Seeking  in  silence,  by  night  and  by  day. 
Law  is  the  secret  and  truth  is  the  way. 

Thy  life  is  to  be,  to  do,  and  to  bless ; 
Immortal  the  goal  and  true  happiness,  — 

He    DOETH    THE    MOST   WHO    LOVETH    THE    BEST. 


PERADVENTURE. 

WHEN  some  sweet  hope  is  defeated 

And  lofty  endeavor  seems  vain, 
And  life  a  subtle  mystery 

Of  wrong,  injustice,  and  pain : 
When  strifes  and  futile  contentions 

Their  forces  around  us  draw, 
I  long  for  a  new  dispensation, 

A  new  revelation  of  law. 
I  think  of  the  new  evolutions 

Of  life  that  is  sadder  than  death 
The  heavens  seem  darkened  forever, 

And  my  prayer  is  a  baffled   breath. 

Echoes  of  strife  surge  around  us, 

And  I  look  in  vain  for  a  sign 
Of  Christ's  sweet  kingdom  begotten, 

Of  teachings  and  tokens  benign ; 
I  think  of  the  gentle  high  precepts, 

Of  Jesus  —  so  slow  to  condemn  — 
And  a  tender  thought  sweeps  o'er  me, 

With  the  thrill  of  a  sweet  amen  : 


PER  AD  VENTURE.  1 3  / 

And  I  know  should  He  walk  the  wayside 

Or  stand  in  the  holiest  place, 
There  would  only  a  look  of  pity 

Shine  over  his  eloquent  face; 
His  presence  bring  peace  to  passion, 

His  touch  would  be  balm  to  the  smart 
Of  the  cruel  and  pitiless  bruises 

That  fall  to  the  aching  heart. 

Perhaps  in  his  gentle  silence 

He  would  stoop  and  write  on  the  ground, 
While  the  hosts  that  spurn  and  revile  us 

Would  pass  with  never  a  sound ; 
Perhaps  the  one  that  seems  vilest 

Would  stand  with  the  Christ  alone, 
With  never  a  voice  to  scorn  her, 

Nor  hand  to  cast  her  a  stone. 
Though  outrage,  strife,  and  confusion 

The  forces  of  Truth  shall  withdraw  ; 
I  know  that  God  moves  with  a  purpose, 

There  is  Life  and  Love  in  his  law. 


THERE  IS  NO  LOSS. 

THERE  is  no  loss  ! 

For,  when  my  rose  her  snowy  blossom  swung 
In  royal  beauty  from  her  emerald  throne, 
The    sun's    sweet    love-light    on    her    pure    heart 

shone, 

While,  leaf  by  leaf,  he  stole  her  life  away ; 
The  air  grew  more  delicious  day  by  day, 

Through  subtile  incense  that  she,  dying,  flung ; 
And    one  —  deep    dreamer  —  when    her    life   had 

flown, 
The  true  rose-life  held  sacred  in  his   own. 

There  is  no  loss  ! 

For,  when  my  birdie  plumed  her  golden  wings 
To  cleave  the  splendor  of  the  sunset  skies  ; 
When  radiant  Summer,  woed  by  Autumn's  sighs, 
Her  wealth  of  sweetness  regally  she  flung, 
My    birdie's    pinions    flash,  through    spice    trees, 
swung 


THERE  IS  NO  LOSS.  139 

By  tropic  winds,  and  by  some  opal  stream  she 

sings, 

Her  song  grown  sweeter,  more  divinely  clear, 
Through  sunlit  space  of  some  glad  atmosphere. 

There  is  no  loss ! 
For,    when    I    loved,    with     love     beyond     all 

friend, 
And    skies    grew    dark    through    sobs  of  Autumn 

rain, 
And    sweet    hope    died,    and    joy    turned   bitter 

pain  — 

Life  one  sad  round  of  parting  and  of  tears, 
And    slow    days     crept    to    months     and    weary 

years  — 

Joy  learned  with  grief  in  harmony  to  blend, 
And  Sorrow  reconciled  with  Peace  sublime, 
Then    Love     triumphant    conquered    space     and 
time. 

There  is  no  loss  ! 
For,  though  one    tender    Spring,  a  pure,  white 

soul  — 

Life's  solemn  mystery  but  just  begun  — 
Forth  from  my  clasping  arms  —  a  sinless  one  — 
Evanished  through  gates  of  immortal  flowers 


140  THERE  IS  NO  LOSS. 

That  shut  the  viewless  angel-realm  from  ours; 
I  know,  that  over  where  the  death-tides  roll, 
From  saintly  calm  of  everlasting  hill 
A  pure,  white  soul  is  waiting  for  me  still. 


UNUTTERED  THOUGHTS. 

How  sad,  yet  kingly  it  must  be  for  souls, 

In  lone,  deep  silence  of  unuttered  thought, 
To  enter  realms  so  vast  and  unexplored, 

Where    age    on    age   the   light    of    truth    hath 

brought ; 

And  stand  with  dumb  lips  on  the  verge 
Of  seen  and  unseen  things, 
Like  crownless,  exiled  kings. 

How  sadly  fated  for  those  sealed  lips 

To  bind  the  secrets  of  the  great  To  Be; 
With  mute  soul  grasp  the  mighty  unrevealed, 

Like  some  deep  river  shut  from  hungry  sea ; 
Tp  dash  against  those  silent  walls, 

That  wordless  height  to  reach 
Of  great,  unuttered  speech. 

How  grandly  desolate  that  prophet  soul 
That  sends  no  voice  across  the  vast  abyss 

Of  solitude  that  girds  each  human  soul, 

Like  far  off  world  that  sends  no  light  to  this; 


142  UNUTTERED   THOUGHTS. 

To  dwell  amid  the  great  unsaid 

Like  bird  on  Alpine  height, 
Or  star  in  polar  night. 

On  that   glad  day,  when   from    those  .mute,  shut 

lips 

The  seal  of  silence  shall  be  rolled  away, 
And  peals  of  joy  break  o'er  the  soul's  eclipse, 
As  sang  the  stars  at  dawn  of  one  glad  day ; 
When  souls  shall  sing  the  great  unsung, 
And  touch  with  living  fire 
The  poet's  sacred  lyre ; 

How  wondrous  sweet  will  that  glad  anthem  be, 

For  age  on  age  in  raptured  silence  bound, 
And  vale  and  hill,  the  mountain  and  the  sea, 
And  earth  and   heaven  shall  list  to  that   sweet 

sound; 

O  soul  of  great  unuttered  things, 
O  silent  voice  of  fate, 
The  dumb  souls  longing  wait ! 


PROPHECY. 

O  SILENT  night !   O  weary,  pallid  moon, 
Forever  sailing  on  thy  shoreless  quest, 

Shall  not  the  morning  sun  arise  full  soon, 
And  life  and  love  fulfill  the  soul's  unrest? 

O  dumb,  relentless  night !     O  speechless  skies ! 

Hast   thou    no    voice    to    break    the   dead 

white  calm, 
No  kindling  soul-fires  from  all-seeing  eyes, 

Nor  presage  of  diviner  song  and  psalm? 

The  ancient,  shining  stars  are  all  alight ; 

The  shadows  lift  along  the  mountain  range ; 
A  sound  is  surging  through  the  awful  night, 

With  trembling  prelude  of  prophetic  change. 

The  slow,  dumb  ages  quicken  into  life, 
And  nations  list  the  chorus  from  afar ; 

Fair  Peace  shall  dawn  on  this  uncertain  strife, 
And    Freedom    shine    from    out    the    morning 
star. 


144  PROPHECY. 

O  waiting  world,  forever  in  thy  place  ! 

The    Right    shall    triumph     over     shame     and 

wrong ; 
New  joy  shall  sweep  athwart  thy  troubled  face, 

Thy  vigils  break  with  victory  and  song. 


ON   THE    SUMMIT. 

WEARY  has  been  the  way,  and  oh,    so  long 

The  sunburnt  path  beneath  our  stumbling  feet ; 
The    small,    brown    linnet    trilled    a    faint,    sweet 

song, 

The   white    bay  glimmered    through    the    blind 
ing  heat. 

Sometimes,  above  the  dusty,  dead-ripe  grass, 
The  palm  trees  lifted  shadows  cool  and  deep, 

And  slow,  sweet  breezes  touching,  as  they  pass, 
Our  fevered  foreheads  with  the  balm  of  sleep. 

Sometimes  a  mirage,  fair  and  shining  far, 
Allured  our  footfalls  unto  bitter  ways, 

And  cruel  skies  shot  down  a  wayward  star, 
And  all  the  world  grew  dark  unto  our  gaze. 

Sometimes  a  vineyard,  cool  and  long  and  wide, 
The  drooping  fruitage  sweet  with  rosy  wine, 

10 


146  ON  THE  SUMMIT. 

And  harvest  fields,  afoam  on  either  side, 

With  eager   sweetness   filled  the  summer  shine. 

And  meadow  waters  laved  our  restless  feet, 
And    dark,    high    rivers    balmed    our    burning 
eyes, 

And  far,  green  hilltops,  lifted  dim  and  sweet 
With  haunting  dreams  of  some  new  paradise. 

Some  distant  notes  were   all    our    thought    could 

know 

Of  perfect  cadence  of  the  song  divine,  — 
A  starlit  glimmer  on  a  crest  of  snow, 

Whose    thrilling    splendors    from     the    summit 
shine. 

With  weary  steps  forever  faltering  on, 
With  weary  eyes  forever  on  the  hill, 

Through  weary  hours,  when  moon  and  stars  were 

gone, 
One  mighty  impulse  moved  us  onward  still. 

Triumphant  on  the  summit  hills  aglow  — 
The  radiant  day  effulgent,  high  and  wide, — 

The  great,  new  future  rising  to  the  flow 
Of  nobler  hopes  and  truth's  incoming  tide. 


ON  THE  SUMMIT,  147 

To  breathe  the  pure  air  on  the  hills  divine, — 
To    grasp    the    truth    that    bids    the    soul    be 
free  — 

To  make  the  splendor  and  the  perfume  mine  — 
This  is  the  glory  of  the  life  to  be. 


STRANDED. 

ONLY  the  gray,  cold  sky, 
Only  the  gray,  cold  sea ; 

One  white  sail  drifting  by, 

Freighted  with  naught  for  me. 

Only  the  sad  wind's  sigh, 
The  sea-gull's  startled  flight, 

One  frail  boat  stranded   nigh  ;  — 
Alone  I  stand  on  the  height. 

What  have  you  lost  for  me, 
Boat  of  the  wild,  lone   shore  ? 

Lost  in  the  sorrowful  sea, 
Never   to  find  them  more  ? 

What  do  you  bear  from  me  ? 

Treasures  I  've  sought  in  vain.  ? 
Phantom  bird  of  the  sea, 

Out  on  the  pathless  main  ? 


STRANDED.  149 

What  do  you  say  to  me  ? 

What  mystic,  secret  lore, 
Voice  of   the  solemn  sea, 

By  this  wild,  haunted  shore  ? 

No  gleam,  O   gray,  cold  sky, 
No  gem,  O  gray,  cold  sea  ; 

One  white  sail  gliding  by, 
Leaving  no  friend  for  me. 


DESTINY. 

THE  summer  will  bloom  into  roses, 
And  laughter  will  follow  your  tears ; 

I  linger  alone  in  the  shadows 

That  fell  from  the  beautiful  years. 

The  autumn  will  shine  into  harvests, 
The  grapes  will  hang  purple  with  wine, 

The  lark  will  sing  high  in  the  meadow; 
The  shadow  forever  is  mine. 

The  mountain  shall  lean  to  the  valley, 
And  billows  flash  foam  from  the  sea, 

And  white  ships  ride  safe  into  harbor, — 
This  phantom  still  lingers  with  me. 

They  will  stand  in  their  old,  bright  places, 
The  valley,  the  hillside  and  sea; 

I  turn  to  the  desolate  faces 

Of  doubts,  that  are  still  haunting  me. 


DESTINY.  1 5  x 

You  will  sigh  and  be  glad  on  the  morrow, 
You  will  love  and  laugh  and  be  free, 

With  never  a  thought  of  the  shadow 
That  lingers  forever  with  me. 

And  time  shall  make  level  the  mountains, 
And  rocks  shall  dissolve  into  sand, 

And  seas  driven  outward  and  downward, 
Shall  pledge  a  new  highway  of  land. 

And  moons  shall  waver  and  darken 
Alone,  among  milky  white  bars  • 

And  meteors  flash  from  the  zenith, 
And  skies  rain  a  shiver  of  stars. 

This  phantom  has  life  everlasting, 
It  is  heaven  and  hell  unto  me, 

Though  aeons  of  new  constellations 
Are  lost  in  an  infinite  sea. 


BEAUTIFUL   LINKS. 

I  CAUGHT  a  sigh  from  the  golden  west, 
Where  the  royal  Day  was  dying, 

A  crimson  dart  through  the  purple  vest 
Of  clouds,  on  her  great  heart  lying. 

An  eagle  flew  from  the  mountain  crest, 
And  swung  in  the  golden  ether, 

A  crimson  stain  on  his  silver  breast, 
A  crimson  plume  on  the  heather. 

A  white  sail  flashed  where  the  golden  sea 
Swept  the  robes  of  Daylight  trailing; 

A  homesick  song  floated  far  to  me 

From  hearts  with  the  hope  light  failing. 

A  mist  crept  over  our  longing  eyes, 
When  we  knew  our  saint  was  going; 

The  Reaper  waited  in  glad  surprise 
The  Sower's  sorrowful  sowing. 


BEAUTIFUL  LINKS.  153 

The  subtle  changes  of  Life  and  Death, 
Love  and  joy,  or  pain  and  grieving, 

A  summer  dream,  an  autumn  breath, 
The  clasp  of  friends  we  are  leaving, 

Are  mystic  links  in  the  endless  chain 

Of  the  infinite  spheres  of  Being, 
And  hopes  grow  on  that  are  early  slain, 

In  realms  beyond  our  dim  seeing. 

The  Day  that  died  in  the  golden  west 

Still  flings  its  marvelous  glory ; 
The  eagle  that  swung  from  the  mountain  crest 

Has  tinted  a  poet's  story. 

The  sail  that  gleamed  in  the  golden  west 

When  the  royal  Day  was  dying, 
Has  anchored  afar  with  jeweled  crest, 

Amid  gems  and  sea-pearls  lying. 

The  friend  that  vanished  through  mist  and  tears, 

With  a  love  that  faltered  never, 
Will  crown  the  life  of  the  weary  years, 

The  beautiful,  vast  forever. 


IMMORTAL  LIFE. 

I  STOOD  on  the  mountain  pure  and  high  ; 
Gray  vapors  were  blending  sea  and  sky. 

The  shadowy  mist  crept  o'er  the  sun. 
The  land,  and  the  sea,  and  sky  were  one. 

The  mystical  mountains,  pure  and  cold, 
To  my  waiting  soul  their  secrets  told. 

And  listening  long  and  waiting  well, 
Inaudible  voices  rose  and  fell, 

And  over  the  sea  where  white  mists  hung, 
A  wonderful  ship  in  vision  swung. 

The  masts  and  the  spars  were  burnished  gold, 
Upheld  in  the  vapor's  phantom  fold. 

O  beautiful  ship  on  yon   dim  sea, 

Oh,  bringest  thou  treasures  vast  to  me  ? 


IMMORTAL  LIFE.  155 

Some  radiant  gem  from  far,  fair  realm, 

0  beautiful  ship,  with  golden  helm  ? 

Or  anchorest  thou,  to  wait  for  me, 
This  mystical  port  to  a  fairer  sea  ? 

1  gazed  o'n  the  ship  of  molten  gold ; 
Inaudible  sounds  the  secret  told. 

It  floated  away  from  mortal  sight  — 
A  luminous  path  of  heavenward  light. 

Away  and  beyond  the  mist  and  the  sea, 
The  beautiful  ship  is  waiting  me. 


«IS    IT    UPHILL    ALL    THE    WAY?" 

Is  it   uphill    all   the  wildering  way  ? 

No;  there  are  rests  along  the  weary  steep, 
And  level  highlands  where  cool  breezes  stray, 

And  strains  of  music  lull  to  dreamful  sleep. 

With  wounded  feet  the  flinty  paths  I  trace ; 

To  sunless  crags  I  lift  my  yearning  eyes ; 
The  damp  winds  sweep  my  lifted,  eager  face, 

And  rainfalls  flash  from  dumb,  relentless  skies. 

Yes,  baffled  and  blinded,  I  climb  the  hill, 
And  battle  with  winds  under  sullen  skies,  — 

But  somewhere  the  waters  are  cool  and  still, 
And     shining    pastures    flushed    with    summer 
dyes. 

If  I  should  stumble  'neath  my  heavy  load, 
Or  falter  in  some  barren,  sunburnt  place, 

An  angel  hand  shall  smooth  the  uphill  road, 
And  angel  calms  shall  light  thy  troubled  face. 


"IS  IT  UP  HILL  ALL    THE   WAY?"        157 

Shall  I  gain  the  summit  and  stand  at  last 

With  tattered  garments  and  torn,  empty  hands  ? 

No ;   on  the  hills  are  mansions  fair  and  vast, 
And  heritage  of  shining  harvest  lands. 


M95662 


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